


a few notes on vigor

by frankoceansmoonriver



Series: dead but without limit [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period Typical Homophobia, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Trans Character, Trans Steve Rogers, binding and t shots, cis bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 05:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21094151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankoceansmoonriver/pseuds/frankoceansmoonriver
Summary: Half the problem is that if he sees something bad happen, he can’t walk away. The other half of the problem is that Steve likes fighting, even when he’s losing badly, which he almost always is. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s angry often or if he just feels like he has something to prove but the first time Bucky says "You always go lookin’ for a fight" Steve knows it isn’t wrong.Or, the one where Steve Rogers is a trans man.





	a few notes on vigor

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: this fic was written by a cis woman, but consultation was given/this work was edited by a trans man, the incomparable @Adoxography. this fic is very dear to me, and i feel it's important that i get things right. if you have questions or comments please let me know. i am available @ dykecrowleys on tumblr, and am very open to critique if you feel it is necessary.

_“The most precious gift you can give to the one you love is your true presence.” _

Thich Nhat Hanh // Simon Van Booy’s WHY WE NEED LOVE

Bucky pulls the covers over their heads and for about ten seconds Steve is bathed in darkness. There’s the sound of Bucky rustling around in the sheets, laughing to himself, and then the flashlight turns on, making Bucky’s face visible. He’s got such a grin on his face, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s rare to see Bucky like this.

Bucky grabs the pulp magazine they had started reading the night before and opens to the next page. He arranges his body around Steve’s. They’re shoulder to shoulder, and Bucky is warm and Steve can smell the mint from his toothpaste still on his breath as he starts reading out loud to Steve.

Steve doesn’t know when his Ma will be back. She works all the time so that she can pay for their apartment with the good insulation, for Steve’s asthma and heart medication, so she can pay to take preventative measures so that Steve gets sick less. She also does it, Steve assumes, so that she can afford to make sure Steve always has his pills, the ones that have stopped his hips from forming curves and have somewhat stunted the development at his torso. He had started to go through puberty along with the rest of the boys at Catholic school and his puberty had begun to take a decidedly different turn than the rest of them.

He hopes she won’t be back for a while. Bucky looks so damn happy. The sight of the dimples in Bucky’s cheeks make a heat rush to Steve’s face, and when Bucky pushes his hair out of eyes, face inches from Steve’s, Steve sighs, a little shaky, and it makes Bucky ask to make sure Steve isn’t gonna start coughing.

“No Buck, m’fine,” Steve says, because it’s the truth. It’s just all been so awful over the last year. He’s always loved Bucky, of course. Bucky’s been at Steve’s side for the last three years, but since Bucky’s fourteenth birthday, Steve has felt that love turn over in his body and become something incessant and unyielding. It’s all getting so complicated now that Bucky’s voice dropped an octave and he sprouted a jawline. The fact that he grew four inches in one winter doesn’t help either. Just a year ago Steve and Bucky were the same height. Now Bucky’s hair is getting darker on his legs and his baby fat is being shed and Steve feels a little hollowed out, lying next to him, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness.

Bucky is starting to look like a man, and Steve just hopes that his voice will start to get lower, and that his body will stay lean. He’s already having to wear layers across his chest, his body developing in ways he doesn’t care for. He’s jealous of Bucky and thinks there’s some sort of greedy desire lingering as well. Desire for what, he doesn’t even know. He just likes being close to Buck, hearing his voice and hearing his laugh, and it doesn’t help that Bucky is so charming all the time. Everyone loves Bucky and luckily enough, no one gives Steve a second glance.

Steve is thirteen years old. Bucky flicks the flashlight on and off, trying to freak Steve out while he reads him a story about a haunted mansion. Steve rolls his eyes and pinches Bucky’s arm to make him stop. Bucky yelps, loud, and cries out, “Uncle Stevie, uncle!” when Steve pinches harder.

“Boys, lights out!” Sarah Rogers calls from Steve’s doorway.

Steve flings the covers off of their heads and Bucky turns the flashlight off. Steve looks at his mother’s face from the lit up hall. She looks tired but happy. Still, she looks at them sharply.

“Sorry Sarah,” Bucky says.

“Sorry Ma.”

“Go to sleep. I mean it. Don’t you know how late it is?”

They have no idea how late it is. They haven’t got school tomorrow, they don’t care.

Sarah Rogers closes Steve’s bedroom door and once it’s shut Bucky lets out a little laugh.

“Whoops.”

Bucky lays down in bed. They’re both getting too tall to share a bed. It’s absurd that they still insist upon it but they sleep better curled up together. Steve doesn’t know when they’ll have to stop, when it will be considered inappropriate. He thinks it might be soon, but he doesn’t let himself worry about it now. He sleeps with his back pressed to Bucky’s, their legs all tangled.

**//**

Sarah puts another pin into Steve’s binder strap and it pokes at his shoulder blade.

“Ow!”

“Sorry sweetheart,” Sarah says, rubbing a thumb over the place she had pinched. “Stay still.”

This is the third binder his mother has made for him. She likes him to have several, and his growth spurt over the last six months has not made it easy. The binders were made of nylon and stiff cotton, and were hardly noticeable through Steve’s undershirt. They were comfortable enough but Steve wasn’t supposed to wear them all the time. His lungs were already in bad enough shape, but he felt better when he was wearing one.

He has already been standing still for half an hour. He wanted to lay down and draw before bed. Ma would leave for the hospital soon, and he’d have the apartment to himself. He likes that sometimes, that solitude. It leaves him time to think.

“How much longer?”

“Just a minute. If I don’t get the sizing right it won’t fit and it’ll end up doing more hurt than good. Just stay still Steven.”

It really is just a few more minutes. Sarah sends Steve on his way. He puts on his pajamas and gets out his sketch book. He drinks a cup of water and falls asleep in bed with his sketch book next to him, a drawing of a pair of Coke bottles settled next to a bouquet of flowers.

When Steve wakes up in the morning his mother is in his bedroom. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks at her. She’s got a smile on her face like she’s holding in some wonderful secret.

“What is it?” Steve asks. He’s never been good with mornings. Unlike Bucky, who starts whistling and singing at the crack of dawn. It’s hateful.

“A package came for me at the hospital. One I’ve been waiting for for a long time.”

“What package Ma? What are you talking about?”

“It’s for you, actually.”

“For me?”

“Sure is. It’s come from a doctor all the way from Germany.”

Steve looked at his mother skeptically, but she’s biting on her bottom lip, trying not to break into a smile and failing completely. She holds up one finger, telling Steve to wait. She goes across the room and picks up a small brown box. It’s got his Ma’s name on it but holds no return address. It’s already been opened. Sarah holds the box open for Steve to peek inside.

Inside, there are about two dozen small vials of clear liquid. Steve picks one up to inspect.

“Am I meant to take this?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it do?”

“Make your voice deeper, the hair on your body grow in, you might even grow a little beard if you want. You probably won’t have to worry about that annoying bleeding once a month.”

Steve is too shocked to be happy or excited. He sits on the bed with his mouth hanging open, ready to catch flies.

“You mean I’ll look more like Bucky?” Steve asks.

Sarah rolls her eyes and laughs. “Yeah. Like James.”

He starts to take the shots each week, and finds that they do not disappoint.

Within six months Steve’s voice begins to crack and then reveals a much heartier and low tone. By the time he’s fifteen, his voice is deeper than Bucky’s, and deeper even than most of the other boys at school.

**//**

Steve gets into his first fight when he’s ten years old and he never really stops, so it’s no surprise that he finds himself with his face against concrete now.

Half the problem is that if he sees something bad happen, he can’t walk away. The other half of the problem is that Steve likes fighting, even when he’s losing badly, which he almost always is. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s angry often or if he just feels like he has something to prove but the first time Bucky says _You always go lookin’ for a fight _he knows it isn’t wrong. It rings true hard and loud in his ears every time he wipes blood from his mouth or his brow and this time is no different.

“You just don’t know when to quit, you little freak,” Steve hears, but it’s muffled. His good ear is being pushed into the ground, along with the left side of face. That whole half of his face will be bruised to hell to be sure, and Bucky will get that sad, accepting look on his face.

“Sure don’t,” Steve mutters back, and laughs while tasting blood in his gums.

Steve’s face is pushed farther into the cement and despite himself he lets out a moan, the pain in his lungs and against his forehead proving too much for him.

“There’s something seriously wrong with you. You queer or somethin’?”

The boy pushes the heel of his foot into Steve’s back. It’s hardly the first time Steve has been called queer, and he laughs at the word because he knows it’s true. He feels the spit hit the back of his head, and then the weight is lifted off his back and off his skull. The stupid asshole walks away, leaving Steve in another empty alley.

Steve rolls onto his back. He coughs twice and sits up. He wipes the blood from his lips. His mother will be so upset. She gets angry and sad in a way different than Bucky does, because she understands why he can’t stop. She told him when he was just a baby, after all, that the world will always try to keep him down, but that he must always get back up.

Every time Steve finds his head pushed into the ground, or finds his mouth kissing another fist, he thinks of that first fight. It’s the same as the day he met Bucky. It’s how they met. Steve saw someone bigger wailing on someone smaller and couldn’t stop himself, so he rushed in and pulled the smaller kid with dark brown curls out, and together they’d managed to get in a few good licks and get away. Bucky had been his friend ever since.

Steve puts his weight on his right side and pushes himself up off the ground. He stumbles, and then limps his way back home.

**//**

Bucky’s eyebrows are thick and sharp above his long dark eyelashes. His eyes shine baby blue like always, and Steve’s stomach drops. Bucky’s mouth pouts red and Steve wants to bite at that lower lip. The stubble forming on that strong jaw makes Steve so hungry and angry he wants to nip at that too, down Bucky’s neck where the neck meets the toned shoulder. It isn’t fair that he should look like this now, when he’s already so damn near perfect.

Sure, Steve is jealous, because his arms and hands have begun to look distinctly masculine but he’s still so small and terribly weak despite all the pent up anger. Bucky is easily strong and easily fast and Steve likes how Bucky has begun to tower over him. It didn’t used to be like this. Just a year ago the thoughts weren’t there, the thoughts like _I wonder what Bucky’d look like with his thighs around my waist, _but now they’re here and they eat and eat and eat at Steve, gnawing at him all pulpy and bloody. Steve feels so sensitive and tender about it, watching Bucky lift something heavy or push his hair out of his eyes.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, raising one of those perfect eyebrows. His mouth pulls up into a half smirk. Steve wants to kiss it away. Doesn’t Bucky know what he looks like?

“Yeah Buck?”

“You okay?” Bucky lights a cigarette and leans back on his elbows. He’s picked up smoking now that he’s started working at the garage with his cousins. He still doesn’t smoke too much around Steve given his asthma, but they’re drinking so those rules have gone out the window. Steve isn’t too drunk yet. Bucky’s far drunker, cheekbones getting redder and redder. Bucky has started enjoying these vices more now in the last year too. Steve knows he gets stressed, his parents and sisters putting more and more on him without realizing. They think Bucky’s a man now, that he needs the responsibility. Steve just hopes he doesn’t add to that in any way, but he’s sure he does with all the ailments and the all the fighting. At least Bucky looks calm now, a little drunk and a little heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Of course. Are you?” Steve asks, leaning forward.

“I don’t know. I think so. Dad’s gettin’ all quiet again. I think he’s been dreaming about the war. But I don’t wanna think about that right now. I just wanna think about Francine Baker and that new Duke Ellington record.”

Steve maybe hates Francine Baker, but it ain’t her fault that she’s perfect looking and a little shy. Bucky likes the shy ones. He likes that he can make them be not so shy. It’s been driving Steve mad as of late.

Steve sips at his drink. Francine Baker is the same height as him. He wonders what it’s like to be her. He wonders what it’s like to be Bucky. He doesn’t know which he finds more intriguing.

**//**

Rosie’s mouth is warm and her bottom lip slots between Steve’s like it was always meant to be there. Rosie laughs into it, a drunken little giggle that makes Steve laugh too. Jean is laughing along as well, and Jean makes a little “Ooooh” sound, egging her friend on. Bucky is silent, but it hardly registers because it’s Steve’s birthday, and he’s finally been kissed.

Before he can lose his nerve, he places his fingers at the nape of Rosie’s neck and tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Rosie seems to like that from the appreciative noise. When she finally pulls away she’s smiling wide and wicked. Steve is pretty sure girls are terrible creatures. Terrible and wonderful all the same.

“Happy birthday Steven,” Rosie says, a little breathless. Then, “You sure you never done that before?”

“Positive,” Steve says, going redder at the compliment.

The night continues and they get drunker. The girls ask to be walked home after the fireworks and so Bucky and Steve walk them home, stumbling through the grass as they go. Bucky is oddly quiet, chain smoking and sullen. He’d stopped making wise cracks ever since Rosie had decided to curl up around Steve.

They drop Jean off and she kisses Bucky’s cheek at the door. Bucky drags a thumb over her cheek as a goodbye and Steve turns away, feeling like he’s probably too drunk to watch something as sweet as that.

Rosie’s place is just a few blocks down. Rosie pulls Steve around the side of the building and Bucky stays put, smoking and watching his feet. Steve allows himself to be dragged by his jacket. Rosie kisses him again, and going purely off instinct Steve puts one hand on her waist. He thinks that’s really as far as a very nice girl like Rose would go but she kisses hard and runs a hand through Steve’s hair. It’s so nice, and Steve knows it’s going to keep him up for hours later in bed. By the time Rosie unlocks her door and sends Steve on his way he knows he’s smiling like a loon.

“Took ya long enough,” Bucky says, stubbing his cigarette out with his heel. He’s got his hands in his coat pockets.

Steve can’t seem to do more than shrug. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s alright, it’s your sixteenth birthday after all. Your Ma is gonna be wondering where we are.”

Sarah Rogers is asleep when Bucky and Steve fall through the door. They tiptoe through the kitchen and into the living room. They start making a little bed with the couch cushions and knitted scratchy blankets like they have since they were twelve.

The liquor is starting to wear off as Steve takes off his tie and trousers and gets comfortable, lying on his back.

“Now I know why you couldn’t stop smiling that day Milly Tetchler kissed you when you were fourteen on the school yard,” Steve says, whispering so as not to wake his mother. He’s still smiling. His face might be stuck like that.

“That was a little more innocent than what little Rosie was doin’ to you though,” Bucky says, and it should be a joke but he’s not laughing.

“I can’t believe she let me do that,” Steve says, face in his hands.

“Okay already Romeo, we get it,” Bucky says, smiling but rolling his eyes.

“Awe, come on Buck, you’ve talked about every girl in Brooklyn ‘til the cows came home,” Steve says, embarrassed but not understanding why Bucky’s being so sore about this.

“Yeah but you don’t really gotta tell me if I was there for all of it.”

Well, fine, that’s a fair point. Steve just can’t help it. His whole body is still vibrating an hour later, under a blanket on the floor with Bucky.

“Sorry Buck, I’ll shut up,” Steve says, and pulls the blanket over his head. Bucky pulls it down immediately, and looks at Steve with narrowed eyes.

“I’ve just never seen you like someone so much, is all,” Bucky explains. “I didn’t know you liked her.”

“I like her _fine_,” Steve grumbles. _Not like she could really like a boy like me anyway, _he thinks to himself, trying not to feel bitter and raw about it. She had seemed to like him well enough this evening. “I’m just surprised she liked me is all.”

“Anyone dame would be stupid to not like you, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for ages.”

“Well most of ‘em don’t, so pardon my gleeful surprise,” Steve huffs.

“Steve, I’m serious. I know I’m givin’ you a hard time, but she’s one of the smart ones.”

“I’m pretty sure she was just being nice because it’s my birthday.”

Bucky laughs, and waggles his eyebrows. “No girl is that nice just ‘cause it’s your birthday.”

Steve groans and is back to hiding his head in his hands. This is too weird to talk about with Bucky, when all he wants is to repeat with Bucky what he did with Rosie earlier. Which is just awful, because that’s not very nice to her either. That’s just greedy and messed up in a way that makes Steve feel like he’s being sawed in half.

“She was drunk too,” Steve offers, but then it sounds like he’s implying she’s a lush who lets boys do whatever they want, which makes him most likely turn the color of a ripe tomato. “We all were.”

“Not all that drunk,” Bucky supplies, and ruffles Steve’s hair. “Why don’t we get some rest, huh?”

Bucky turns off the light and curls up on his side away from Steve. It doesn’t take long for his breath to even out and Steve listens to the breaths, and matches his own to the shape of Bucky in the darkness.

**//**

The August heat in Brooklyn is near unbearable but Steve refuses to remove his binder or his cotton t-shirt. He’ll sit in his god damn underwear next to Bucky all afternoon but there’s nothing to be done about his torso. He sweats through his shirt, and they’ve spent weeks like this, with Bucky shirtless, lying on the living room floor, and Bucky has the decency to never mention that Steve could take off his more of his clothes if he wants to.

Not that that isn’t something Steve thinks about almost all the time. It’s been driving him nuts, how he feels about Bucky. He would love nothing more than to take off his clothes and roll over and touch Bucky all over, and Christ, he’s got to stop thinking up things like this.

Bucky is tan all over and he’s got a layer of muscle over his arms and stomach from working hard manual labor all summer. He does it to try to save money for Steve when he gets sick, he knows. His mother has been taking shifts at the hospital less and less, coughing too often, and she’s tired all the time and Steve can’t even think about that.

“Hey Stevie, you wanna go dancin’ tonight?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know I don’t.”

“Come on. We’ll get drunk and dance with some girls. If we’re drunk the heat will be bearable.”

Steve doesn’t want to go out and get drunk, because if he gets drunk with Bucky he’ll think about kissing him and then he’ll remember all the reasons he can’t, most importantly that Bucky could be with anyone in the world and it certainly won’t be Steve.

“If you can find a girl who would wanna dance with me then I’ll go,” Steve says, smirking. Bucky groans in frustration. “I don’t know what you want me to say. Not all of us can be tall and endlessly charming.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet!”

“And annoyingly vain.”

“I’m only so vain ‘cause I know I got somethin’ to be proud of,” Bucky says, and winks at Steve. Steve just shakes his head and looks back up at the ceiling. It’s like Bucky is trying to get a reaction out of Steve half the time.

Buck runs a hand down his chest and then rolls over onto his stomach. He flicks Steve in the arm. “Please go out with me tonight. I haven’t kissed anyone in weeks, I’m goin’ crazy.”

Steve thinks about the last time he was kissed. Nancy Miller had been very pretty, and had made very cute noises when Steve had moved his fingers just right. The problem with Nancy Miller was that Steve was certain that she was under the impression that Steve was a girl, which was problematic to say the least. That had been a fun night, but Steve really doesn’t want to go through something like that again. Bucky had no idea about Nancy Miller, and Steve was going to keep it that way.

He also really doesn’t wanna think about Bucky kissing anyone. Steve’s stomach turns over. Bucky should be happy, and should be kissed well and often.

Steve has seen Bucky kissing girls a few times, and each time had been like being stabbed in the gut. Steve was jealous and devastated in the same breath. It doesn’t ever get easier.

“You don’t need me to be present in order to go neckin’ Buck.”

“No, but it’s more fun if we both get to have a good night.”

Steve can think of a different way they can both have a good night. He wipes the sweat off his brow. He can feel the frustration settling into his skin. Maybe he should go get drunk. Seventeen has been such a strange year and Steve wonders if he’s felt anything at all.

"Fine Buck, let's go get drinks. But you can't get sore at me if I have a smoke or get a little messy, because we both know I won't have a date to worry about." 

"Such an optimist you are! But no, I'd love for you to get drunk Steve. Lord knows you could use it." 

"Oh, come off it!" Steve says, feigning insult but laughing all the same. He runs a hand roughly through Bucky's hair which makes it stick up at the top. 

"Hey, you little shit!" 

Bucky scrambles up and pins Steve to the hardwood floor. He keeps him down with his forearm and sticks one finger in his mouth, wetting it, and Steve yelps and wiggles underneath Bucky. 

"No! God you're so gross!" 

"You bring out the worst in me, what can I say?" Bucky says, smirking. He gets his finger dangerously close to Steve's ear but pulls back at the moment Steve gets a hand up and pulls on Bucky's hair. 

The sound that emits from Bucky's throat when Steve tugs on his hair comes out more high pitched than either of them expect. It almost sounds like a _moan_ but Steve can't let himself even imagine that. His face goes hot and he tries to push Bucky off of him. Bucky grunts then laughs, and settles for pinching Steve's side in revenge. 

**//**

Sarah Rogers dies on a Tuesday morning. Steve watches them lift her body off the cot in the hospital, draped in a white sheet. He had been with her. She hadn’t died alone.

Steve doesn’t cry and he doesn’t pray. Bucky’s mother helps him arrange a funeral. Mrs. Barnes and Sarah had been good friends.

Steve doesn’t talk to Bucky much. He wanders home from work at the shops that first week, to and from the Barnes’s place, in silence, his head empty.

He’s never gotten drunk by himself, but he does for the first time that week. He’s so numb, and he thinks maybe the whiskey will make him feel something, so he gets black out drunk the night before his mother’s funeral. She would not have been proud of that, and Steve isn’t much proud of it either when he wakes up before the sun, head pounding and throat dry.

The Barnes’s pick Steve up and drive him to the cemetery. Bucky knocks his shoulder with Steve’s, his hair gelled back all nice and smooth, jaw sharp and newly shaven. Steve irritates himself through his hangover, admiring Bucky’s appearance. It’s hardly the time for it.

Steve says goodbye to his mother. All in attendance give him the space to speak freely. He puts a hand on her coffin before it is lowered into the ground next to his father’s.

“Hey Ma,” Steve starts. He clears his throat. A light wind whips his hair and stings his eyes. He doesn’t cry. “I know you told me to tell him, but I don’t know that I can. I know you don’t want me to be alone, but I think I’ll be okay.” Steve smiles. “No, I know I’ll be okay. You did right by me, in every way.” He breathes deep. “I’m going to miss you a lot.”

Steve turns away, back towards Bucky. Bucky nods at him. Just once. Steve nods back.

Steve rolls his shoulders and makes his way over to the Barnes’s. He gives each of them a hug, each of Bucky’s sisters kissing his cheek and holding him close.

“Let’s drive you back,” Buck says, and leans his head towards the car.

“Nah. I just wanna be alone. Thank you though.”

“Steve, come on,” Bucky persists, but Steve shakes his head.

“Just let me clear my head.”

Bucky sighs heavily but nods. “Okay pal.”

Steve walks home alone with his hands shoved in his pockets, hardly noticing anything as he makes his way home. When he gets back to the apartment, Bucky is already waiting for him. Steve rolls his eyes. Of course.

“I wish you would have let us drive you back,” Bucky says, following Steve up the steps to the apartment.

“I know, but I really needed to be alone.”

“Okay. Steve, I got an idea, and I already know you’re gonna say no but I gotta ask anyway.” Bucky holds out a hand, and between his fingers lays a key. “Come on Steve. It’ll be fun. We can push the couch cushions together like when we were kids. You won’t even have to do much, just shine my shoes, take out the trash.” Bucky shrugs. “You shouldn’t be alone. My parents would love to have you.”

“Thank you Buck, but I can get by on my own,” Steve says. He can see clearly in his mind sharing a bedroom with Bucky. He imagines keeping their clothes in the same closet, and Bucky’s toothbrush sitting perfectly tucked next to Steve’s in the bathroom. It would be heaven, and it can’t ever be. There’s far too much at stake. Besides, Bucky already gives so much, Steve can hardly imagine taking anything else, even when it’s being given freely.

Bucky looks away for a moment. He works his jaw and tilts his head. His jaw clenches and he reaches out and takes Steve by the shoulder. His thumb slots right against Steve’s clavicle. His fingers dig into Steve’s bony shoulder. His hand is steady and warm. Steve does his best to not lean into the touch.

“The thing is, you don’t have to. ‘Cause I’m with you to the end of the line.”

Steve looks down at his shoes. He smiles up at Bucky. The promise is heavy and soothing. Steve feels something for the first time in a week.

“That means a lot, but I can’t accept that key. You know I can’t.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Bucky puts his hands in his pockets. “I’m not going anywhere though. Anything you need Steve. Anything at all.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna get some rest, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Steve says, but he doesn’t plan on seeing anything save for maybe the bottom of a bottle and his pillowcase. He unlocks his door and goes inside, not letting himself turn again to see Bucky’s face.

Steve doesn’t rest. Not really. He pours himself a glass of whiskey, hoping to help along his hangover, and goes into his mother’s bedroom.

He looks at her paintings, and the drawings he’d done for her over the years. There’s one from when he was about twelve of a small dog sitting under a tree. She had smiled wide at that one.

Steve looks over to her jewelry box. She didn’t keep much, but there is a wedding band inside, as well as a necklace Steve’s father had given her when they had first met. It had originally been meant for Steve to wear, but later Ma had said he should give it to his daughter. Steve had laughed at that. Neither of them had mentioned that it would be unlikely that Steve might have a child of his own.

Steve takes a sip of his drink and decides he may as well go through the drawers. He only vaguely knows what’s in them. He knows there’s letters from his father from when he was in the trenches. He knows there are photographs of his pregnant mother with her own mother that Steve had never met. She had kept the top drawer locked and had worn the key around her neck. Steve guesses that’s where she kept his birth certificate.

Steve takes the key he’s kept hidden away under his mattress and opens the top shelf of the drawer. He was right. His birth certificate sits at the top with a name typed out that he sometimes forgets once belonged to him.

Underneath the birth certificate is something entirely unexpected. There are a stack of letters still in their envelopes. Steve picks up the stack, bound together with one thin piece of navy blue thread. Steve unties the thread and lets the letters fall open onto his mother’s bed. The envelopes are all addressed to Sarah Rogers and have a return address from Germany, an international stamp tucked neatly into each right corner.

The confusion and the whiskey clouds Steve’s mind. He nearly rips the first letter he opens in his eagerness to read it.

The handwriting is broad and messy across the page. He begins to read, heartbeat picking up.

_Dear Mrs. Rogers,_

_Thank you for the quick reply. I know word takes a long time to travel across an ocean. _

_I hope you are well. Last time you wrote, you seemed very worried about your son, but you sound near content now. I am glad that you have found some peace. I trust that Steven has helped you to find that peace. I know America is struggling now, but I also know that that cannot last forever. _

_I feel so honored that you feel you can trust me with this knowledge of your son. He sounds like he is very special. For one so young to know himself so fully is a rare thing indeed. _

_I think I have the tools needed to help your son live the life he deserves. I will need to know just a little more. If you can give me his exact weight and height I can determine the doses he will need. What I will send you will do nothing drastic. Steven is still very young, so what I will be giving him is merely a pill to stop him from developing in ways he would not desire. We will have to wait a few years more before I can give him what we originally discussed. _

_Please give Steven my best. I look forward to hearing from you again. _

_Sincerely,_

_Dr. Abraham Erskine_

Steve stares at the paper for a long time. It is dated ten years ago. Steve was just nine. “The doctor,” he whispers out loud to the empty room. He puts his drink down on the floor and springs to the bed, spreading out each letter. There are dozens. Ma had never allowed Steve to see these, and for good reason. As a child he probably wouldn’t have cared, but it is strange to see so many of his personal thoughts splayed out in writing by someone else he has never met. He understands, he does, because how else would his mother have gotten him his shots?

Steve rips open another letter, trying to concentrate.

_Dear Mrs. Rogers,_

_I will keep this letter brief and vague, because what you ask is not for public knowledge. _

_Most doctors told you Steven would not live past eighteen. He is seventeen now, and he still gets sick but he is stronger than he ever was before. He’s still small but his lungs are not as weak. His spine is no longer so crooked. His heart still has a murmur, but you worry about it less. _

_I won’t lie to you, Sarah. The shots are not only filled with testosterone. I cannot tell you what else it contains. I just need you to trust me. Know that I would never do anything to put Steven in danger. If anything, I assure you, he is safer now. _

_Sincerely, _

_Dr. Abraham Erskine_

Steve’s hands shake. He had almost died when he was fifteen because of a terrible bout of pneumonia. He had been sick the whole winter of 1934, coughing wet and loud and he’d been in and out of consciousness often. Bucky had come to see him every day for two and a half months. Steve has always known he should’ve probably been dead by now. He isn’t sure what to think of the idea that he’d be buried with his mother and father if he hadn’t had the shots; he would be dead if he wasn’t just the way he was. The idea had never even crossed his mind.

He skims most of the letters, needing to obtain the information as quickly as possible. In 1927 Sarah Rogers had met Dr. Erskine when he had come to visit New York quite by accident. He had come to the hospital to stay for a week. Sarah Rogers had heard Erskine describe a surgery he had completed in hushed voices with another doctor, a surgery that had made it easier for a young man to move about in the world unnoticed. Sarah Rogers had taken a risk, and it had paid off.

His mother could have gotten into a lot of trouble for even suggesting some of the things she had to this doctor who was a near stranger. She could have been arrested for sending the letters she wrote, Steve can fill in the blanks.

His instinct is to run to the Barnes’s place and knock on Bucky’s bedroom door until his fists hurt. He wants to tell someone, and he wishes to God it could be Bucky but even with the desire to tell on himself, there’s still that wave of nausea that comes with the idea of actually going through with it.

It’s funny. Steve ain’t scared of much. Losing Bucky is really it.

Steve shuffles all of the letters back into one pile. He hastily ties the thread back around the paper. He puts them along with his birth certificate into the top drawer and locks it.

It’s all too much for just one day. Steve finishes his drink and crawls into bed. He falls asleep to strange vivid dreams where his body is no longer his own.

**//**

Steve sits in his apartment smoking and drinking and drawing. Bucky has stopped by three times this week. Steve had pretended not to be home every time, but Bucky isn’t that stupid.

Steve has drawn his mother’s face a hundred times in the past month and he’s certain he will never get it right. She never taught him how to sew and his binder is falling apart. She left him her life savings which sits in the second drawer of Steve’s dresser. He has new needles and a month’s supply of his shots. He’s got his job at the little grocery shop, cleaning up and keeping things stocked. He hasn’t felt sick in weeks. By all accounts, things are all accounted for. Things are going well.

Steve has never felt so alone.

Sarah Roger’s last request to Steve was that he tell Bucky everything. Steve doesn’t think he’s capable. He lights another cigarette.

He knows the smoking is bad for his lungs and it’ll make him cough. He knows the smoking mixed with all the drinking he’s done to get to sleep the last couple weeks isn’t good for him either, but he needs to sleep at some point, and he needs the quiet, and he just needs to distract himself in any way possible.

Steve is fumbling with his charcoal, a glass of whiskey at his elbow, when he hears the knock on his door.

He knows who it is before Bucky starts to speak.

“Come on Steve! Open up! I know you’re in there.”

Bucky knocks again, more aggressively now. Steve shuts his eyes.

“You’re gonna wake my neighbors,” Steve says to himself. He throws back the rest of the drink and goes to the door. He can’t avoid Bucky forever.

Once the door swings open, Bucky pushes himself inside. He’s got his hair gelled back all perfect and he smells like cigarettes. He’s so handsome Steve could cry, but that’s the whiskey talking.

“Great news,” Bucky announces. He gets himself a glass out of Steve’s tiny kitchen and pours some of the whiskey into it. He refills Steve’s glass. “I found us a place. Better than the last one I told you about. This one is perfect. You can’t say no.” Bucky has been talking about new apartments for the past month. He thinks Steve can’t live with him because he doesn’t want to stay with the rest of the family. As if that’s the problem.

“Buck. I told you. I’m fine here, okay?”

“Steve, you can’t keep paying the rent here, and you can’t. You can’t live here with all her things.”

“Why not?” Steve demands.

“You know why. Just listen to me, would ya? The apartment is closer to both our jobs. Nicer area. And if we split it, the rent ain’t bad.”

“I’m not living with you Bucky.” Steve takes a drink.

“Would you stop being so stubborn and accept some help for once?”

“I don’t need anything.”

“You need fuckin’ somethin’ buddy.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you act like I pity you when all I’m doing is offering a mutually beneficial situation. I don’t want to live at my parent’s, with my baby sisters runnin’ around. I am literally begging you to come live with me. It’s what I want.”

“I _can’t_,” Steve says. He hears his mother’s voice in his head. _You stick with James, and you tell him everything. That boy thinks you hang the moon. He won’t go runnin’ off. _

But Steve thinks a mother’s love can cause blind spots. He thinks his mother can’t possibly know that for sure.

Bucky is standing over Steve, expectant.

“I can’t,” Steve repeats. _I can’t share a little room with you, and I can’t hang my binders out to dry. You’ll ask about them. And I can’t keep my vials and needles in the medicine cabinet, and I can’t take a fucking bath if you’re at home. I can’t live with you because whenever I look at you I think my chest is cracking in two. _“It’s just, I’m not ready. And I need to do these things in my own way. It’s only been a month.”

“You’re so full of it. You’ve been avoiding me. You wouldn’t open the door to me. I know grief does funny things to people but I promise you I’m always here. I don’t. Steve, I don’t know. Did I do something wrong?” Bucky lights a cigarette. He looks so miserable.

Steve’s head is swimming. He’s much drunker than he thought.

“Of course not, Buck.”

“Okay. Good. But I’m staying here tonight. If I have to listen to another lecture from my mother about comin’ home reeking of liquor I’ll pull my hair out.”

“Did you go out tonight?”

“Yeah. I had a date. It didn’t go so hot.” Bucky takes another drag from his cigarette.

Steve has learned not to ask about Bucky’s dates. He doesn’t really want to know how they went. If they go bad Steve feels a terrible selfish relief, and if they go well Steve feels like someone is ripping his guts out. Nothing good can come of asking about it.

Bucky starts to undo his tie. He sits down on Steve’s bed and starts to unlace his shoes. He’s gonna get ash on the sheets. Steve doesn’t even care. He likes the sight of Bucky in his bed, even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.

“I’m real tired,” Steve says, sitting down next to Bucky. He’s missed him these last few weeks. It’s good to have Buck’s warmth next to him again. Steve undoes his belt buckle and toes off his socks. He takes his slacks off and lets them just lay in a heap on the ground. Bucky does the same, throwing his cigarette butt into a dirty mug. The apartment is filthy as it is, with all of Steve’s moping.

They outgrew sharing a bed a long time ago, but tonight it doesn’t seem to matter. Bucky turns towards Steve. His shin is on top of Steve’s ankle.

“I’m sorry Stevie. I miss her too.”

It’s that simple statement that causes Steve to break. He hasn’t really cried about it yet, and of course it’s now, with Bucky curled around him, that Steve starts to sob so hard he’s worried he’ll never be able to breathe again.

His crying is the real ugly kind. His whole body seizes with it, and it’s so terribly loud.

Bucky doesn’t miss a beat.

He pulls Steve into his chest and just lets Steve cry. He rubs Steve’s back and rests his chin on top of Steve’s head. Steve has no idea how long he cries for. He’s got fistfuls of Bucky’s shirt. He will be embarrassed later. Right now he can’t find it in himself to bother to care.

“That’s it, just let it all out. It’s about time. You can’t hold that in forever.”

“I’m so alone without her,” Steve says, barely coherent. Bucky must understand him though because he makes a disagreeing sound in the back of his throat.

“No you’re not. You got me and you got Becca and the twins. You got my parents too. You’re family Steve.”

“You don’t understand,” Steve says, just drunk enough to let the words fall out. “She’s the only one who knew me.”

“I like to think I know you pretty well pal,” Bucky says, pulling Steve even closer.

Bucky holds Steve until he falls asleep. He cries until he simply can’t anymore, and then he falls asleep. When he wakes up, mouth and eyes dry and still completely exhausted, he sees Bucky asleep next to him, mouth gone soft and slack in sleep.

Steve moves in with Bucky ten days later.

When Steve leaves the apartment he’d grown up in, he takes the letters he had found in that top drawer and writes a letter back, stating that there will be a change of address. He signs it with his mother’s name, trying to mimic her neat penmanship. He keeps one letter, the most recently received, and then burns the rest.

**//**

Living with Bucky goes just about as well as Steve would have guessed.

Steve had to keep all of his shots and needles in one suitcase stuffed into his closet for a week before he found a time when Bucky would be gone long enough to hide it all properly under a loose floorboard.

He keeps his binders in the top drawer of his dresser. Bucky won’t look there. Their schedules arrange for one day a week when Bucky works and Steve does not, and on that day each week Steve washes them. He tries not to sleep wearing one, knowing he can’t wear them all the time, but some nights he still does, if he goes to sleep late after a drink or two with Buck, or if Bucky makes good on his half joke of pushing the couch cushions together. On those nights, Bucky sometimes falls asleep with an arm thrown over Steve’s waist. Steve doesn’t think Bucky realizes he’s doing it, but he doesn’t do anything to prevent it and it reminds him of when they were kids and their limbs would get all tangled. They’re too old to be acting like this, but Steve thinks they both need it. Sometimes, when Steve is feeling real bold, and Bucky’s breathing has evened out, he’ll throw an arm around Bucky, feeling the softness of his stomach or the hardness of his bicep under his fingers.

Steve sketches little comics, one where they’re both two small bears. Bucky thinks they’re funny, so Steve hangs them up in the kitchen.

Bucky arranges double dates for them, and Steve hates going but goes anyway. Sometimes the girl Bucky sets him up with pays more attention than usual. There’s a small, quiet girl named Helena that laughs when Steve doodles the patrons of the dance hall on a napkin and kisses Steve soft and satisfying when he walks her to her place later. She even asks him to come up, but Steve says no because he knows she has absolutely no idea about him, just like Bucky, adoringly oblivious. It’s not her fault. Most people are. He thinks about just making her feel nice, because that would feel nice too, but he doesn’t. It feels too complicated and if he’s honest he’s too scared to. Steve does not tell Bucky about that one.

Steve listens to Bucky talk about work while he does the dishes. He likes listening to Bucky complain about work and he even doesn’t mind when he talks about the girls he goes on solo dates with. He thinks Bucky needs to talk about them, like sometimes he’s convincing himself of how much fun he’s having with them.

They do okay. Steve doesn’t get sick. He does look for fights sometimes. He gets his ass handed to him on more than one occasion. He goes looking, but he always has a good reason to start.

For three months, things go just fine.

**//**

Steve wakes up late on a Wednesday morning. Two hours late. When he wakes with the sun bright in his eyes, he turns to see that the clock had stopped working around four am.

“Shit!” Steve breathes, and runs to turn on the radio. The commentator announces it’s nearly nine am. Bucky will be home in thirty minutes, and Steve has to take his shot today.

Steve bolts to the corner of the living room where the floorboard is loosened and grabs his bandages. He leaves everything out in the open, there’s no time.

He kneels down to retrieve one of his small vials and his needle when the door to the apartment unlocks and swings open.

Steve closes his eyes. There’s no time to hide anything, to make up some lie. Bucky is standing ten feet away, home from a long night working at the docks, and Steve’s biggest secret is laid at both of their feet.

Bucky doesn’t move. He doesn’t make a sound. Steve swallows hard on the bile rising in his throat. “Buck,” he whispers.

“What the hell are you lookin’ for in there?”

“I…I can explain,” Steve says, even though he can’t.

“Get the fuck away from there Steve,” Bucky says. His voice is hard and angry, and Steve can’t really understand it. Maybe it’s just obvious that Steve has been caught in a lie. Steve guesses he just looks so guilty that Bucky figures he must have done something awful.

A panic settles into Steve’s spine and stays there, holds him in full force. He thinks he’s got a few dollars in his pants pocket. He stands up and looks at Bucky.

Bucky steps forward, and his eyes are unreadable, his mouth a thin line.

“I…” Steve starts, but trails off. He pushes past Bucky and bolts out the door before Bucky can grab him. He knows he shouldn’t run, because he’ll trigger an asthma attack and his heart is already pounding and he can’t hear anything aside from his heart in his throat, but he runs down the hall, down the stairs, and out onto the streets of Brooklyn.

He falls when he hits the sidewalk. He scrapes his palms on the cement but at least he doesn’t trip into anyone. He picks himself up and starts to wander in a random direction, with no plan at all.

Three hours later Steve finds himself sitting in still damp grass. He doesn’t cry, because that wouldn’t help anything but he does feel numb. He wonders what Bucky is thinking. He doesn’t know what his small clear vials would look like to an outsider. For one terrifying moment he wonders if Bucky would throw them all away in his confusion, and almost runs all the way home but then stops because he thinks he might prefer that all his shots be gone than face Bucky right now.

Bucky had looked angry in a way that Steve had never seen before. He had also looked…what? Scared? Steve can’t parse out that look, but he never wants to see it again. Bucky has never been angry at him, not for real, and not with such force. Bucky’s been mad at Steve plenty. He’s lectured him about going out in bad weather because he always gets sick. He’s yelled at Steve for getting into fights he never had a shot at winning. But Bucky is always angry _for_ Steve, not at him.

Steve doesn’t go home. He waits all day and all night, and he simply can’t bring himself to step back into the apartment. He finds a diner open all night and drinks far too much coffee. It’s cheap and goes cold but he keeps drinking it. He starts doodling on napkins, finding a pen in his pocket. It’s nearly six am when Bucky finds him.

Bucky stands over the booth Steve is sitting in, hands in his pockets and hair falling in his face. Bucky looks exhausted. His eyes are red. Bucky probably hasn’t slept since the day before. All the same, he raises an eyebrow at Steve, and Steve scoots over in the booth so that Bucky can slide in next to him.

“Hey,” Steve says.

“Hey,” Bucky replies, getting a pack of smokes out of his pants pocket. He hands a cigarette to Steve and then lights them both. Bucky doesn’t usually allow himself to smoke around Steve, given his asthma, but apparently Bucky thinks they both need a smoke right now. Steve is grateful. He’ll deal with his good for nothin’ lungs later. “You been here the whole time?”

“Not the whole time, but a while.”

“You’re such a little shit,” Buck mumbles. “Runnin’ off on me like that.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, blowing smoke out of the side of his face. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“So are you gonna explain yourself or what?”

“You were never supposed to find out.”

“Seriously?!” Bucky demands, and it’s a little too loud. The waitress looks up from the counter but doesn’t say anything. Bucky slumps into his seat and sighs. “Whatever drove you to this, we can figure it out, okay? I know this year has been awful, but I told you. You don’t have to do go through this alone.”

“What…whatever drove me to it?” Steve sputters. His face goes hot. What the hell does Bucky think is going on?

“My Uncle Ronnie started using back in ’33. I’ve seen what it can do. I’m gonna help you, okay, you don’t need that shit.”

It catches up with Steve all at once. Bucky thinks he’s getting _high_. And what the hell else would he think? He found a needle and dozens of little vials filled with some unlabeled substance.

“No Buck, that’s. That’s not at all what’s going on.”

“Are you really still trying to deny this?” Bucky asks. He ashes his cigarette. “Steve, I saw all of it, okay? Just stop.”

“No, no I mean it!” Steve has no idea if the truth will be worse than this or not, but he needs Bucky to know that this isn’t the reason. Steve lowers his voice and leans closer to Bucky. “I’m not getting high. That’s not what that’s for.”

“What the hell is it then?” Bucky’s face is tight. His jaw is clenched and he just looks so impossibly sad.

“I ain’t lyin’!” Steve says desperately. “Just not here, alright?”

“Then let’s go home.”

When they arrive back in the apartment, Steve locks the door behind them. He makes sure all the windows are shut and locked, and he pulls the blinds down. Bucky sits on the couch, another cigarette in his mouth, intently watching Steve’s every move.

Steve goes to the corner where he keeps his supplies and gathers up a needle and one of his vials. He still needs to inject it. He places both items on the little makeshift coffee table in front of them, which is just an old crate from the docks with a tablecloth thrown over it.

Bucky looks from the table to Steve and then back again, waiting patiently.

The trouble is, Steve has no fucking clue where to begin. He feels terror fill up cold in his chest. Bucky is the only thing he has. Losing him means losing everything, but there’s no way out.

Bucky has seen him one way and one way only, and Steve doesn’t want that to change. He digs his fingernails into his palms so hard it stings. He takes a deep breath. The words don’t come.

“Steve, whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said.”

“But what if you said that without knowing who you were saying that to?”

“We can sit here all fuckin’ night Stevie, but we’re not leaving until you talk to me. Nothing you say could make me leave.”

Steve scoffs, but Bucky has known Steve all his life and has never, ever left. Not when he started getting sick. Not after Steve got himself beat bloody time and time again. Not after a hundred failed double dates. Not after Steve’s mother passed and he was at the worst he ever was. Bucky knows Steve, and that simple fact is what gives Steve the ability to speak.

“This is medicine my Ma got for me. There’s this doctor in Germany. He was in New York when I was real young I guess, and my Ma told him about me. They wrote letters back and forth for years. He’s been sending me packages filled with this since I was about thirteen.”

“What is it?” Bucky asks. He picks up the vial and inspects it, like just looking at it will give him some sort of clarity.

“It’s testosterone.” Steve takes the vial from Bucky. “I take it about once a week.”

“But, why?”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m so small Buck?”

“No, not really.” Bucky shrugs. “Lots of people are small Steve.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that after twenty years you’ve never seen me change my clothes in front of you?” Steve asks, desperate for Bucky to understand.

“Maybe a _little_. I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”

That bothers Steve, but for such a different reason. Steve is so keenly aware of every moment a patch of Bucky’s bare skin is showing. He resents the fact that apparently Bucky doesn’t notice him at all. He supposes that’s for the best.

“Do you see what I’m trying to say?” Steve all but shouts.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair. He shrugs. “I’m really not, to be honest.”

Steve rubs at his eyes. His whole body feels itchy and he’s wrung out. He wants to sleep for ages and ages. He doesn’t know how to explain this with words. Slowly, and with shaky fingers, he begins to undo the buttons of his shirt.

He takes his button down off, the starched collar feeling far too tight anyhow. He takes one last deep breath and then looks at Bucky. This might be the last time Bucky looks at him like he’s normal. He lifts his t-shirt up to reveal the nylon binder across his chest.

To Bucky’s credit, he only tilts his head and looks at Steve like he’s trying to fit all the pieces together. He doesn’t look angry, and he doesn’t look disappointed. He’s just trying to make it all make sense. Bucky licks his lips and then meets Steve’s eye.

“But you’re a boy,” Bucky says. He says it as a fact, not a question. It’s like he just wants to say it out loud so it’s not just in his own mind.

“Yes,” Steve says. “I am.”

Bucky reaches out, very slowly, terribly cautious, and places two fingers against the soft nylon. He runs his fingertips down until they reach the fine hairs at Steve’s belly. Bucky meets his eyes, and Steve thinks he finally understands.

“Okay,” Bucky says softly. “Does anyone else know?”

“Just my mother,” Steve whispers. He folds his shirt back down over his torso and stomach, feeling exposed. Bucky moves his hand away.

“Dammit Stevie. You were just carryin’ that shit around. All alone. I told you. I_ told_ _you_. How many times do I have to say it?”

“I _know_ Buck. I know. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you more than anything but I didn’t know how you’d take it and I just couldn’t lose you.”

“It’s me pal, you’re never gonna shake me.”

Steve laughs. He laughs like only the truly insane and then slumps into the couch cushions. He looks at Bucky, who is smiling at him so wide and pretty. Steve loves him so bad. Bucky throws an arm around him, and Steve allows himself to fall into Bucky’s side.

Then he recalls Bucky’s tone, and his anger, and his fear. He recalls Bucky warning him to get away, and a new kind of anxiety overlaps the old.

“So what did you think I was finding under the floorboards?” Steve asks, exhausted but remembering Bucky’s look of horror before he had promptly fled the apartment.

“Oh god, Steve.” Bucky wrings his hands.

“Hey, you haven’t gone running from the room, I highly doubt that anything you tell me is really gonna make my hair curl,” Steve says. He puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky just learned Steve’s biggest secret and showed him nothing but support. There’s no way anything that Bucky’s done could scare Steve off.

Bucky sighs and then nods, like he’s nodding more to himself than to Steve. When he finally does speak, his voice is quiet and tired.

“I’ve been messin’ around with men,” Bucky says, voice low. He doesn’t look at Steve, and elects instead to study his hands intently. “I think I feel for boys what I’m supposed to feel for girls. I’m gonna marry some nice girl, eventually, it’s just. I’m not looking forward to eventually very much.”

Steve nods, trying to find words. He still doesn’t know exactly what it was Bucky was keeping secret from him, but if this is the crux of it, it really doesn’t matter. It feels like his heart must actually be breaking, given the way his chest is twisting. His stomach is in knots too, and Steve thinks maybe his whole body is gonna just hurt forever with the knowledge. So Bucky likes boys, it’s almost a nice thought, because there could be a possibility, but if Bucky wanted him at all, surely he would have done something about it over the last twenty years.

“You got some nice fella, Buck?” Steve asks, almost afraid to know but needing to know if someone else was keeping Bucky warm at night.

But Bucky just laughs a little. “Nah, not like that. There’s no one in particular. I’m just saying, it happened. I would have told you, but if I got found out I wanted there to be no trace to you. You know how people talk, Steve.”

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh. “It wouldn’t be anything they haven’t said before. Besides, that’s why I didn’t tell you either.”

Bucky finally looks at Steve. “So you’re not upset?”

“How could I be?” Steve says, laughing into the question. “Bucky, after what I just told you did you really think I would care?”

Bucky watches his hands again. Then the floor. Finally he shrugs. “Guess not.”

**//**

They carry on as if nothing has happened at all, and Steve doesn’t know if he’s relieved or not. Being in love is hard in this way. He has a million questions for Bucky that he can’t find it inside of him to ask. The knowledge that Bucky could want him, that the possibility exists, is paralyzing and hurtful, because nothing happens. Ever. Bucky treats him just the same as always, with a cigarette in one hand and Steve’s scrawny shoulder in the other, playful and kind and ubiquitously warm.

It should be a relief that Bucky treats Steve exactly the same after he finds out. It isn’t.

Four months after Steve moves in with Bucky and six months after Sarah Rogers has been buried, Steve realizes he can’t possibly continue to wear any of the three binders his mother had made for him anymore. The sides are frayed, in need of new stitching, and Steve hadn’t learned to sew. He had taken it for granted that his mother would be around to help patch them up, and once she had become ill in earnest she hadn’t been able to teach him. Steve has tried on his own, but he worries he’ll only make it worse, make the stitches too tight and he knows if they aren’t sewn just right it’ll only cause more problems later.

Bucky sees Steve worrying over one of the binders one evening. He tilts his head and puts down the book he’d been reading.

“Lemme see that,” Bucky says, making a _hand it over _gesture with his left hand.

“Nah, I watched my Ma do it a hundred times, I can do it.”

“Then why don’t you? You’ve been fiddling with that thing for a week now. I can fix it.”

“Suddenly you can sew?”

“Not _suddenly_. I have three sisters, Steve. In case you forgot.”

Steve sighs and hands the binder over. It feels strange to see Bucky handling the binder, like it’s a pair of pants that need hemming. It’s a little surreal, and a little nice too.

“How long have you had this one?”

“A little over two years.”

“Should probably make a whole new one,” Buck says offhandedly.

“Yeah well.” Steve shrugs.

“Are the measurements the same?”

“Guess so, yeah.”

“I’ll just make a new one. Not too hard. You’ll just have to get the fabric.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“I just think if you need it. If you wear these as much as you do, I. Is that okay?”

“If you want. But, can you show me how?”

“Sure.”

A week later Steve watches Bucky use a needle and thread. He wets the thread in his mouth to fit it more easily through the needle and uses his steady hands to shape the fabric into a brand new binder. Bucky makes it look easy and he whistles while he works.

Steve goes into the bathroom and tries the new binder on. It is comfortable, and Steve looks down at his chest, warmth blooming in his chest when he thinks of wearing something Bucky made with his hands across his chest. He smiles at the thought and then lodges it into his ribcage, deep between the bone where he keeps all his intimate thoughts about Bucky, because he can’t put them anywhere else.

Steve dresses and steps back into the living room.

“How’s it fit?” Bucky asks, but he already knows, because he’s smiling at Steve.

“It’s good Buck.” Steve lets himself smile back. “Um. Thank you.”

“No sweat. I can make more if you want. Just let me know.”

“Okay,” Steve says softly, but the word sits heavy between them. He doesn’t know how to say how much it means to him, that Bucky seems so comfortable with this part of Steve.

**//**

Steve falls ill in late October, gets a wet cough so bad he doesn’t sleep save for short fits for three days, and Bucky decides he needs medicine and more blankets, things they can’t afford, and that’s how it starts.

Bucky begins by picking up an extra shift or at the docks over a handful of days, but soon begins to work thirteen or fourteen hours a day, sometimes for three days in a row. He gets the extra money, and for the next month works tirelessly to get Steve medicine, blankets, and a can of peaches, terribly sweet and delicious. Steve makes Bucky eat some of them, refusing to eat them all himself.

Steve doesn’t get better until nearly two months later, and Bucky gets dark circles under his eyes, partially from working too much, partially from worry.

Once Steve starts to feel like a person again, no fever and no aches, he can’t stop himself from saying something, guilt eating him up.

“You’re tired,” Steve says. “You can’t keep doing this you know.”

“Sure I can,” Buck says, voice all cheerful. He’s splayed out on the couch, legs spread out with his head falling onto his shoulder. He’s smiling, despite how tired his eyes are.

“Bucky, I mean it. I can see you’re exhausted.”

“It’s no problem Steve. Seriously. It won’t be like this forever. Just for now.”

“I feel awful, it’s my fault you’re working so much. But I’m better now. I’m going back to work at the shop tomorrow. And I’m gonna take my portfolio around again. It can’t hurt.”

“Steve, you ain’t leavin’ this house. It’s been raining for a week, and if you get sick again I’m gonna kill you myself.”

Steve works his jaw in frustration. He hates this more than anything. He feels helpless, watching Bucky work himself to death while he lays in bed all day just willing his body to feel better.

“I need to do something! I can’t keep watching you barely get any sleep and stumble in here at all hours. It’s not fair to you.”

“You’re really layin’ it on thick today Steve. Why don’t you just come sit down with me, huh?”

“You do too much for me, I can’t have you doing more. You shouldn’t be doing all. You could just be workin’ one job instead of three. You should be goin’ on dates with whoever you want. You should be enjoying yourself but instead you’re just trying to keep me alive. I don’t know that I’m worth all this.”

Bucky shifts on the couch. His eyes are dark and his brows pull together, like he’s parsing out all the words.

“I’m really tired of the whole ‘woe is Bucky’ shit. It’s my choice, first of all, you asshole.” Bucky gets up off the couch and walks slowly over to where Steve is standing in the kitchen. “Second of all, why do you act like you do nothing for me?”

“Because I don’t! Because I can’t! Because of this miserable, useless body!” Steve shouts.

“You are so much better than me, how do you not get that?” Bucky says, careful and calculated. His jaw is clenched, and Steve doesn’t know if he’s seen Bucky angry like this before. Not since the day when he caught Steve rummaging around under the floorboards.

“What?” Steve breathes. This is the most ridiculous thing Bucky’s ever said. Everyone loves Bucky. He’s caring and funny and witty and can charm the pants off anyone. He’s incredibly smart, and he looks like he does on top of it all which is just unfair.

“You never think about the smart thing or the easy thing, or just doing what you need to do to survive. You think about doing the right thing. The good thing. That’s why I’m always gettin’ you outta trouble. Do you know what that does to me? It makes me wanna be better every day. So please, shut the fuck up.”

“Just because I never know when to stop does not mean I’m…what? Admirable? You have some messed up version of me Buck. And even if that were true, you should not be putting your life on hold to take care of some scrawny little nobody.” Steve feels his face go hot.

“Oh my _god_! You are such a pain in my ass!” Bucky throws his hands up in the air in defeat, and then shakes his head. He puts one hand on his hip, and with the other points at Steve. “How long have I known you? All our lives you’ve been trying to tell me this shit. You are the best person I know, quit talkin’ about yourself like that!”

“I just need to help out, I need to pull my weight! It’s not fair to you and you shouldn’t be doing all this in the first place.”

“I know you get frustrated. I know life gave you a raw deal, and only continues to give you the raw deal, but that’s my point! You’d rather get your ass handed to you by somebody else than just walk away from a shit situation! So what if I like doing it, huh? Taking care of you? What then?”

“Yeah right,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, for lack of anything better. He’s starting to feel very exposed under Bucky’s gaze.

“No, I mean it, what if I like taking care of you? If that’s what you wanna call it. What if it makes me happy?”

Bucky’s got a look on his face that Steve has never seen before. It’s two parts frustration, one part misery.

“I. I just don’t see how it could.”

“I would do it anyway, because you’re worth ten of me, and you’re my best friend, but I do it because I love you, you miserable little shit. I’m so in love with you, you make me wanna tear my god damn hair out. So how about this? If you really wanna help, if you really want me to not be exhausted all the way down to my bones, then for once in your life just stay down. Stay down and don’t fight. I’m going the fuck to bed.”

Bucky walks away. He slams the door to their bedroom shut and that leaves Steve alone in the kitchen, gob smacked and stupid, mouth hanging open.

He doesn’t sleep, because of course he doesn’t. He lies on the couch; a blanket pulled up to his chin, and replays the conversation over in his head. He cannot possibly have heard what he thinks he heard.

He steals two of Bucky’s cigarettes. He paces. He puts his hand to the bedroom door. He knocks gently. He says “Buck?” twice through the door, but he gets no reply and it remains firmly shut.

He stays on the couch and just draws as the hours of the night drift by. He feels like he’ll never sleep again.

Eventually, because it has to, the bedroom door opens. Bucky walks out dressed for his shift. He did his hair without a mirror and Steve can tell but he doesn’t think anyone else would be able to.

“You’re already up,” Bucky comments. He’s not angry anymore, but he’s something else. Maybe defeated, though that wouldn’t make sense, since he sure got the final word in last night.

“I didn’t sleep.”

Bucky snorts. “Of course you didn’t.”

“I--” Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off.

“I have to go to work, but I’ll be back this afternoon. We’ll talk then, okay?”

Steve simply nods. Whatever Bucky wants Bucky will get.

It’s a long wait. Steve bathes and shaves his face, knicking the left side of his jaw. He takes his weekly shot and makes himself eat something. Steve thinks he might lose his mind by the time the afternoon sun starts to come in through their one window.

His torture finally ends when Bucky unlocks the door and steps in, solemn and hesitant. He sits on the couch next to Steve and tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey Steve.”

“Hey.”

“I got it all figured out, okay?”

“Got what all figured out?” Steve’s stomach turns over.

“I’m gonna go back to living with my parents for a while. I’ll call my Ma tomorrow. You can stay here, and I’ll still help with the rent, so don’t worry.”

“You’re leaving?” Steve says, and his voice comes out so small it embarrasses him.

“Well I can’t exactly stay, can I?” Bucky says. His voice is cracking around the edges.

“Of course you can stay.” Steve flounders, trying to find the words. “Why do you think you can’t?”

“Steve. I’m humiliated as it is. Are you gonna make me say it again? I can’t stay here after last night. It’s not right.”

“Did you mean it? What you said last night?”

Bucky shakes his head. He puts his head in his hands. “Steve, _please_.”

“Buck I’m sorry, I just don’t understand.”

“Yes, I meant it, that’s why I can’t stay here. That’s no fair to you, is it? I guess it was a bad idea in the first place. It was selfish of me to live with you. I just needed to get you out of that old room, you were so sad. God. Steve, it’s awful what I think up. It’s no fair to you at all.”

Steve’s heart pounds in his chest, and it’s got nothing to do with his heart murmur. He reaches out and touches Bucky’s jaw. Bucky freezes, and steels himself entirely against Steve’s touch.

“What do you think up?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

Bucky groans in frustration. He pushes Steve’s hand away, gentle and warm.

“I want to _be_ with you, and I know that isn’t what you want, okay? I know you don’t feel that way about me, and that’s okay. I’m wired wrong anyway. I gotta deal with it. So I can’t stay.”

Steve thinks that the world could be ending and he still wouldn’t be able to move. He takes a few deep breathes and then watches as Bucky turns away from him.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I wasn’t ever gonna say, but I guess it was bound to come out eventually.”

Bucky loves him, Bucky wants him, and Bucky _knows_. He knows Steve and he still feels the way he does. Something inside Steve snaps, and he takes Bucky’s face in hands. He kisses him hard, and the soft, muffled sound of Bucky’s surprise makes a warmth dip into Steve’s belly.

“You dumb jerk,” Steve whispers. “How could I not love you?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and his eyes roam Steve’s face, looking for some kind of answer. Eventually he moves his hand down to Steve’s waist, and then bends forward to kiss Steve again.

Bucky kisses slow and gentle. It’s heaven to know what Bucky tastes like, to know what it feels like to run a hand through his hair.

“You been holdin’ out on me?” Bucky asks, voice low and gone.

“I think we’ve both been holdin’ out.”

Bucky laughs. “I didn’t even think you liked boys Stevie.”

Steve blushes. He laughs a little, trying to collect himself after going over the moon.

“I like boys and girls, I guess it just depends on the person.”

“Doesn’t that seem like important information you could have shared with the class when we did show and tell?” Bucky says, teasing. Steve is already getting sick of the talking. He’d much prefer the kissing again. He’d like to do that forever.

“All the other stuff seemed like it was more important at the time,” Steve says, letting his eyes flicker down towards Bucky’s mouth. Bucky grins, noticing. He leans forward again, giving Steve what he wants.

It turns out Bucky is real good at kissing, just like he seems to be good at everything else. He holds Steve’s face in his left hand like it’s something terribly precious, his right hand squeezing lightly at Steve’s hip. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and holds on for dear life.

“Christ honey, you got no idea what you do to me,” Bucky says against Steve’s neck. Steve sighs and smiles, helpless to Bucky’s voice like that. Bucky’s right hand moves to Steve’s thigh. He squeezes gently, and Steve gasps.

Steve slides a hand down Bucky’s chest. He pushes him back so that he’s laying down across the couch. Steve straddles him and finds Bucky’s already hard.

“I think I’m starting to get an idea,” Steve says, and grinds down against Bucky. Bucky moans and grabs at Steve’s hips. Steve leans down and kisses Bucky again. Steve’s breath is already shaky, but he manages to start rucking Bucky’s tucked in shirt up. Bucky laughs, like he’s delighted at this turn of events, and arches his back to help Steve along.

Steve fumbles to undo the buttons of Bucky’s shirt. He’s trying desperately to stay calm but it’s going poorly. This is _Bucky_ after all. He can’t possibly mess this up. He kisses down Bucky’s neck and pushes the shirt off Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky smells of sweat from his day working in the sun. He smells of cigarettes, and ocean air. Steve pulls Bucky’s undershirt up over his head, and it’s not like he’s never seen Bucky shirtless before. He’s seen that plenty. Still, there’s something so different about it now, knowing he’s got all that bare skin he’s actually allowed to touch.

“God, I love you,” Steve says. Bucky looks up at him, his mouth falling open, all pink from kissing and sweet. Bucky pulls Steve down to kiss him, and then starts to pull at Steve’s button up. When Bucky pushes the shirt off Steve’s shoulders he smiles, then drags his thumb across Steve’s bicep. He makes small circles there with his thumb.

Bucky sneaks a hand up and under Steve’s undershirt, cradling Steve’s lower back in his palm. It’s a lovely feeling until Bucky’s fingers touch the nylon binding that makes an X across Steve’s back. Steve sits up straight, still on top of Bucky, frozen in place.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, the smile fading. “You wanna stop?”

Steve feels himself flushing, embarrassment and anxiety curling into his chest. Bucky likes men, has made it clear a couple of times now, and sure, Steve is a man, that much is obvious, but maybe Bucky likes things that men can usually provide.

Steve reminds himself that Bucky already knows, has known for months, and was still kissing Steve within an inch of his life just moments ago.

“Buck, I don’t know if there’s anything that you expect, it’s just, you know I’m not like any other men you’ve been with.”

“How much do you think I get around?” Bucky says in mock offense, squeezing Steve’s thigh. “Besides, I wasn’t fully gone on any of them.” Then, more seriously, “C’mon Steve. I don’t care about that. I just wanna be close to you.”

"Okay," Steve says, trying to keep himself composed. His heart hammers in his chest. 

"I'm not expecting anything. I just want you to feel good." Bucky moves his hand back down to Steve's waist, sensing Steve's hesitation in regard to the binder. Instead, Bucky's hand trails to Steve's thighs, and his fingers make quick work of undoing the zipper on Steve's trousers. 

Steve starts to laugh, partially from nerves but partially from pure joy. He pushes his face back down into Bucky's neck and lets Bucky push his pants and underwear all the way down. Bucky is cupping the back of Steve's bare thigh, his fingers warm and rough from hard labor. Steve is more turned on than he's been possibly ever. He thinks he might be dreaming or having some sort of insane hallucination, but groans all the same when Bucky touches him between his legs. 

He grinds down against Bucky's hand and stifles another moan by biting down on Bucky's neck, which in turn earns him a soft gasp from Buck. 

"You feel fantastic," Bucky whispers, and it isn't long before Bucky is finding a rhythm Steve likes with his fingers. 

Steve struggles to stay quiet. He's touched others before, just two girls nearly four months apart, but it’s been years since then, and he's not been touched by anything other than his own hand. He lifts his head only to look at Bucky, who is smiling like he just won a million bucks. 

"So it seems like I'm doing okay?" Bucky says, and Steve rolls his eyes. For the snide comment he pulls on Bucky's hair gently and kisses him roughly. Steve can still feel Bucky, hard and wanting against his stomach. 

Steve sneaks a hand between them and undoes Bucky's trousers. The angle they're at isn't ideal, but they're both far too gone to correct it. Steve licks his palm and then reaches down again, getting a hand fully around Bucky. 

Bucky is _big_, and Steve huffs out another whine at the realization. 

"Steve, your fuckin' hands," Bucky mumbles, and Steve wonders if he even realizes he's speaking. 

Bucky speeds up the rhythm of his fingers and Steve grinds down hard against them. He shuts his eyes and kisses Bucky, then collapses against Bucky's chest, breathing hard. 

"Jesus Buck," Steve whispers, and whimpers when Bucky moves his hand away. 

Bucky brings his fingers that had just been touching Steve up to his mouth and then, unbelievably, puts them in his mouth, and licks them clean. Steve goes still and feels his face turn so hot he can only assume he's red as a ripe tomato. 

"God you're absolutely awful," Steve manages, swallowing hard. 

"Not my fault I can't control myself around you," Bucky replies, smile all smug. Steve decides to remedy that as quickly as possible. 

Steve leans down and kisses Bucky again, soft this time. He cups Bucky's face in one hand, and strokes Bucky slow up and down with the other. Bucky whimpers approvingly and grinds up into Steve's hand. 

He starts to move faster as Bucky's breath hitches. 

"Steve," Bucky says, strangled, and comes all over Steve's fingers. 

Bucky slowly comes back to himself and sighs contentedly. He runs a hand through Steve's hair and smiles. He laughs which makes Steve laugh, both of them bewildered by the turn of events. 

"I love you," Bucky says. "I can't believe I can say that out loud."

"I love you too. Always have, jerk." 

"Punk," Bucky says, their old sing song banter rolling off their tongues seeming almost insane after what they just did to each other. 

**//**

At night they crawl into bed side by side and for the first time, Bucky doesn’t make some half hearted excuse as to why he throws his arm around Steve’s waist. He pushes his nose into Steve’s hair and then kisses his shoulder. Steve smiles in the dark. Things were never supposed to go like this. Bucky was meant to marry some pretty girl who wore curlers to bed and red lipstick in the afternoons. For some hilarious reason he’s decided he wants Steve, a scrawny punk with a bad heart and worse lungs to boot. Steve’s not stupid. He doesn’t know how long this will last, but he’ll make this last for as long as possible.

Steve wraps his long fingers around Bucky’s wrist and pulls it to his chest.

“Bucky?” he asks in the dark.

“Yeah Steve?”

Steve bites his lip to try to control the insane smile that just won’t quit. “Nothin’. Just. Nothin’. Night.”

Bucky kisses the top of Steve’s head. “Night Steve.”

**//**

Most of the time, Steve can’t believe his luck. Most of the time, Steve thinks Bucky can’t believe his either.

For the most part, things go as usual, but when Bucky leaves for work in the morning he kisses Steve goodbye and when he comes home the first thing he does is kiss Steve, even before he takes off his coat.

Steve goes back to work at the shops. The butcher pays Steve to paint cows, pigs, and chickens in the front window, and the steady money makes Steve feel good. Spring hits, and his cough subsides. Bucky touches him at night, soft and adoring. It’s the happiest Steve’s been in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

He misses his mother. He goes to see her sometimes. He tells her about him and Bucky. She probably always knew anyhow.

**//**

Bucky kisses down Steve’s neck, filthy and smiling the entire time. Steve laughs and it turns into a light moan as Bucky sucks a mark at a pulse point. Steve tugs at Bucky’s hair. He thinks of how he loves Bucky’s hair, soft and getting too long.

Bucky moves down. He kisses down Steve’s clothed torso. He pushes Steve’s shirt up just a little so that he can kiss his belly. He runs a thumb down Steve’s hipbone and then kisses at the soft flesh at the inner part of Steve’s left thigh. He dips his head down between Steve’s legs and it’s only then that Steve realizes what Bucky is thinking of doing.

“Can I try somethin’?” Bucky asks. He’s smiling but waiting, a little coy and a little mischievous. It’s working, but nonetheless Steve pulls his legs up and scrambles up to a sitting position.

“Uh,” Steve manages. Bucky sits up. He’s still got most of his clothes on, which feels unfair.

“Sorry, too much?” He runs a hand through his hair, looking nervous.

“It’s just. I don’t know if you’ll be into it.”

Steve doesn’t know how to explain.

“How would I not be? It’s you,” Bucky says, eyes soft. “But hey, come here, I’ll just stick to what I know.”

Bucky leans forward and kisses Steve. He pulls away, eyebrows raised in question.

“You really wanna do that for me?” Steve asks. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. He’s thought about doing a lot of things with Bucky. This one thing in particular just seems a little murky.

“Well, not just for _you_, I think it’d be fun for the both of us but, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Oh what?”

“So, you’ve thought about it?”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head, like he can’t believe what Steve’s asking. “Of course I’ve thought about it. I wanna…” Bucky looks away and down at the mattress when he speaks next. “I wanna do everything with you.” He shrugs. “I want you. All the time.”

“I didn’t know.” Steve’s tongue feels too heavy. He wants so much. He thinks of Bucky’s pretty mouth, doing unspeakable things. The arousal dips new in his stomach.

Bucky scoffs. “I’m clearly not doin’ a good enough job at showin’ you how sweet I am on you. C’mon Steve. I already know what you’re thinkin’. I promise I just love making you feel good.”

Steve grabs Bucky by the shoulder and kisses him. Bucky laughs, pleased with himself that his words are finally making things crystal clear. “Okay Buck, have it your way.”

Bucky feigns annoyance and rolls his eyes. “Finally you’re seeing it my way.”

Steve lays back down on the mattress and watches as Bucky works his way back down his body. He smiles wide as he kisses Steve’s kneecap and then moves his head back down between Steve’s legs. He pauses, rubbing circles with his thumb against Steve’s thigh.

“You know I’ve never done this before, so you might have to talk me through it a little,” Bucky says, and then starts to use his mouth in just the way Steve has been hoping for.

Steve stifles his moans on the back of his hand. He only has to give Bucky a little direction, murmuring “Gentle Buck,” and “Slower,” then “Faster,” his legs shaking a little as Bucky holds him through his climax.

When Steve opens his eyes, breathing heavy, he sees Bucky wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. Bucky tilts his head, smiling.

“So I did okay?”

“Don’t be such an ass, you know you did.”

Bucky laughs and moves forward to kiss Steve. Steve’s tastes himself on Bucky’s lips. He gasps at the realization.

“You make the cutest noises, did you know?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve whispers, feeling that Bucky is still hard and wanting against Steve’s stomach. “So that was good for you too, right?”

“Stevie, I thought that was obvious. You were absolutely killin’ me.”

“Well, allow me to continue to do that.”

Steve pushes Bucky back down into the mattress. He strips Bucky of the rest of his clothes and takes his time touching him. He makes Bucky wait before he decides to take Bucky into his mouth, returning the favor. Bucky doesn’t last long at all, and there’s really no warning when he comes in Steve’s mouth. Steve tries to take all of it, tries to swallow it down, but he doesn’t quite manage it. He feels filthy but laughs at himself, cum dripping down his chin.

“God, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Bucky mutters, dragging a thumb over Steve’s bottom lip.

**//**

Inevitably, Steve gets sick again. It rains too much in April, and he has to walk home in the downpour. He gets a fever the next night. It doesn’t break.

Steve has felt like death warmed over for the last two weeks. He goes from hot to cold over and over and shivers incessantly. It’s too wet when he breathes and Bucky’s worried face when he thinks Steve is more out of it than he is would be more concerning if Steve could recall how many times he’d actually seen it. He’s lost full days, he knows. He’s scared, actually. He hasn’t been this sick since before his Ma passed. He’d gotten a bout of pneumonia when he was fifteen and had nearly died. He thinks that was the worst, until now.

Still, after sixteen days he wakes covered in sweat and weak as a kitten. His fever had broken in the night finally, miraculously. Bucky is sitting on the bed leaning over him, pressing a damp and cool washcloth to Steve’s forehead.

“Hey pal,” Bucky says, soft and sweet. He smiles close lipped at Steve, which means he’s hopeful but not completely convinced that Steve is okay. Steve assumes he’s still got no color in his face, mouth pasty white. Bucky is watching him, pure devotion seeping out of him. Steve will never understand it.

“What’s my temperature?”

“Open,” Bucky says, sticking the thermometer under Steve’s tongue. After a minute he takes it back. “Only ninety nine!”

Steve lets out a weak laugh, and it ends up making him cough.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand down his face. He runs his fingers gently through Steve’s greasy, sweat covered hair. “Honey, we have to get you a bath.”

“Fine, I’ll get in the tub.”

“Stevie, sweetheart, you can hardly stand on your own.”

“Just help me to the bathroom”

“Steve,” Bucky says sternly.

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. He’s not wearing his binder. He hasn’t been since he felt himself getting sick. It was no help to his shit lungs and it wasn’t like he had been leaving the apartment anyway. Still, Bucky has never seen Steve without something covering his torso, and he intends to keep it that way.

“Okay. Let’s just get you to the bathroom.”

Steve nods, and slowly twists his legs up and over the side of the bed. He goes to stand and collapses into Bucky’s arms. He laughs, recalling the fact that he’s barely moved in two weeks.

“I got you,” Bucky says, and curls his arm tighter around Steve’s waist. His arms are strong and warm as always. Steve loves them. He loves Bucky. He laughs again. Maybe he’s still pretty delirious.

They move painfully slow, but they make it across the apartment and into the bathroom. Bucky turns the light on and sits Steve on the side of the tub and starts to run a bath. Steve sits and slumps against the wall, the cool tile feeling lovely against his forehead.

Eventually, the water stops running and Bucky taps Steve’s shoulder.

“Can you get undressed for me?”

“Just leave me here, I’ll be fine,” Steve says, still leaning against the wall. He opens his eyes to see Bucky watching him with a torn look on his face.

“What, so you can drown yourself in here? You’re not moving so well, I don’t really trust you to carry your own weight.”

“Bucky, God dammit, just let me be,” Steve says, trying to sound stern, but it comes out so small, and he hates himself for it. He knows he’s too weak. He knows he’s being stubborn, and probably mean.

Bucky sighs and starts by taking Steve’s socks off. Then he undoes the button on Steve’s trousers and slides them off along with Steve’s underwear.

Steve wraps his arms around himself and pointedly does not look at Bucky.

Bucky kisses Steve’s temple anyway.

“You know I don’t care, right?”

“I know _you_ don’t.”

“Okay, okay. I have an idea.”

“Does it involve you leaving the bathroom?”

“No. I’ll just shut my eyes.”

Steve scoffs but Bucky squeezes his arm.

“I mean it,” Bucky says. “I shut my eyes until you say.”

Steve feels so anxious and so tired, and all he wants is to get into the hot water. His fucking bones ache, and it’s been ages since he’s bathed.

“Buck,” Steve whispers.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“With my life!” Steve groans.

“Then keep trusting me.” Bucky looks pointedly at Steve and nods. Steve nods too. Bucky closes his eyes. He holds out his arms and feels blindly for Steve’s skinny frame. He yanks at Steve’s shirt where it sticks with sweat to the skin at his hips. Bucky ever so carefully helps Steve out of it, gently peeling it up and over Steve’s head. Steve watches Bucky’s face intently. He keeps his eyes shut tight.

Steve holds onto Bucky’s shoulders as he gets into the tub. Bucky’s eyes remain shut as he holds Steve up. “Are you good?” Bucky asks, brow furrowing with worry. Steve bends and is submerged in the hot water. He wades down until he’s underwater all the way to his neck.

He wraps his arms around his torso and feels such relief at the feeling of the warm water washing the sick off of him that he moans.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, sounding alarmed.

“You’re good Buck. You can open your eyes.”

Bucky slowly opens his eyes and then smiles at Steve.

“Thank you. Now, let’s get you washed up.”

Bucky whistles as he washes Steve’s hair. It feels incredible. Bucky massages his scalp and down his neck. He lets Steve take the washcloth to his own body. He even gets the shaving cream and gentle as can be shaves Steve’s face. He kisses Steve’s smooth cheekbones when he’s done and Steve loves him more than he can stand.

Bucky shuts his eyes again when he hands Steve the towel to dry off. Steve sits on the edge of the tub as he dries off, and Bucky leaves briefly to get him clean clothes.

When Steve is dressed Bucky looks at him, contemplative.

“Steve, when’s the last time you took your shot?”

“I don’t know. I had it marked on the calendar but I’ve lost a few days.”

“Why don’t I help you take it?” Bucky asks, already opening the medicine cabinet.

Steve pulls his pants down on one side and watches Bucky ready the needle as if he’s done it a hundred times. He must have watched Steve do it more times than he’s realized.

Bucky kneels down at the edge of the tub and pushes the needle into Steve’s thigh. He kisses Steve’s shoulder and then smiles up at him.

“Ready for bed?”

Steve laughs, as if he hasn’t been bed ridden for days. He’s exhausted though. Truly exhausted. “Yeah. I am.”

Steve lays back down in the bed and realizes that at some point when he was drying off, Bucky had changed the sheets. Steve pulls the blankets up around himself and feels wildly comfortable, everything smelling of soap and mint and fruit. The sheets are stiff but soft.

“Lay down with me Bucky. Get the light.”

Bucky does what Steve asks. He lays down next to Steve in the darkness and lets out a little sigh when Steve runs a hand through his hair.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers.

“It’s nothin’ sweetheart. Promise.”

“I know I can be a little shit.”

Bucky laughs, loud and bright. “No fuckin’ shit.”

“I love you,” Steve says, and starts to unbutton Bucky’s pants. He reaches one hand inside and palms Bucky through his underwear. “I do, I love you.”

“Stevie,” Bucky says, and the word sticks in his throat. He’s already half hard in Steve’s hand.

Steve is too tired and weak to be aroused, but he watches Bucky, fascinated all the same, and memorizes every sound, and watches as his face scrunches up, almost like he’s in pain. He strokes Bucky slow, then faster when Bucky’s breath hitches.

“Oh God,” Bucky says, and moans too loud. Steve leans forward and kisses him to keep him quiet. Bucky has never been good at staying quiet.

After, Bucky wraps himself around Steve and pushes his nose into Steve’s bony shoulder.

They fall asleep, exhausted and content, sleep coming heavy and peaceful.

**//**

Word comes through their tinny little radio that the United States has joined the war. Which is what Steve had wanted. Bucky is less eager, and doesn’t say much about the matter.

“I’m going to join up, Buck. It’s going to happen. I’m going to the recruitment center with you,” Steve says, voice steady and strong. Bucky is looking at him with big worried eyes, like when he got that bout of pneumonia back in ’34. Like when he came home with a busted wrist and two black eyes from a real bad fight in ’39.

“Steve. There’s a medical exam. Baby, you can’t.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Dammit Steve,” Bucky says, but there’s no heat in it. He says it like he’s resigned. “There’s standing up for what’s right and there’s just plain dumb.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do? It’s my duty, and I want to!”

“The line between courage and stupidity is awful thin here.”

“I can do this!”

“You’re perfectly capable of fighting, that’s not the fucking problem.” Bucky fishes around in his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes. “You’re a grown man, so you’re right. I can’t tell you what you can and can’t do. I just don’t think you realize just how much danger you’d be putting yourself in.”

“I know what the risks are.”

“Do you?” Bucky demands. He raises an eyebrow. He’s beginning to look angry in a way that Steve has hardly ever seen. “What if they find out about you and they lock you up? What if they put you in some kind of fuckin’ hospital? How am I supposed to help you then? How am I supposed to get to you?”

“I don’t need you to protect me like I’m your girl Bucky,” Steve says, anger filling him up.

“Jesus fucking Christ. You’re being defensive for no reason at all. You’re turning this into shit it’s not about, and you’re taking shit out on me. Take a fucking breath Rogers.”

“Do you really think I haven’t thought about that?”

“Then you haven’t thought about _enough_!” Bucky takes a long drag of his smoke. His chest swells as he tries to keep his voice even through his anger. “What the fuck would I do without you? How about that then? If you won’t think about yourself then think about me.”

“I can’t do nothing. I can’t watch you get sent away and be left here being useless. I am always thinking about you, in case that wasn’t obvious.” Steve is so angry that it’s a strain to breathe.

“You’ll be really fucking useless locked away somewhere. You’re so blinded by your passion that you don’t see the obvious warning signs, and fucking hell, I usually admire it to an extent, but right now it’s like you’re trying to kill me where I sit. I know you’re eager to help out with the war effort, and I know you believe what you’re doing is right, but if they find out what you are you’ll wind up in a real bad spot that I will not be able to pull you out of.”

“And what am I, Bucky?” Steve demands. They watch each other from across the room. Bucky doesn’t back down. His jaw is clenched so hard it must hurt. “Well?”

“You’re a real piece of work is what you are.”

“Right back at you, Buck.”

Bucky’s gaze turns softer. His mouth turns down into a sad line. Smoke curls around his fingers, forming a hundred small questions in his balled up fist.

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky asks, genuine and quiet.

“I want you to believe me when I say I have to do this.”

Bucky swallows audibly. He stubs his cigarette out. His eyes are red and wet but he bites his bottom lip and doesn’t let himself cry. Instead he clears his throat and blinks it away.

“Okay Steve. Okay.”

“I’m not. I’m not sorry Buck.”

“I know. I am though.” Bucky scratches the side of his face. He needs a shave. “Will you come here please?”

Steve still feels angry. He feels like he’s always angry these days. He crosses the apartment and falls into Bucky’s side.

Bucky runs a hand through Steve’s hair. He sighs against Steve’s cheek. “Just be careful, won’t you?”

“Yeah Buck. I’ll be careful.”

They both know there’s no way to be careful. If Steve goes he goes, there’s no turning around on it. Steve knows who he is. He’s got no choice but to go.

**//**

Steve sits and waits. He bites at his thumbnail until it’s down to the nub. Bucky’s words run through his head but he pushes them down. It’s far too late to worry anyhow.

Steve’s name is called and he stands up. He hands over his paperwork and goes to a different, smaller room. He waits for the recruitment officer to come through the little door. When he finally does, the whole thing is over in less than thirty seconds.

Steve is sent back out the door with a big shining 4F on his paperwork. He doesn’t look at Bucky as he makes his way out, the envelope shoved in his balled up fist.

“Well?” Bucky asks. Steve can see his hands are shaking, the cigarette in Buck’s hand unsteady.

“No need for all the hysterics Buck.” The wind blows Steve’s hair into his eyes. He pushes it back with a flat palm. He wants to break something. He wants to go looking for a fight.

“So what happened?”

“The recruitment officer didn’t even introduce himself. He took one look at me and said no thanks. He barely looked at me.”

He shoves the envelope into Bucky’s chest. Bucky opens it and looks at the paperwork. He laughs, high pitched and crazed.

“I’m so glad you find this amusing,” Steve says bitterly.

“Steve, don’t you see?” Bucky stops in his tracks. He’s beaming.

“See what? That I’m no good to anyone out there?”

“No dumbass. He didn’t even question you trying to join up. Sure they denied you. But they saw you properly.”

“Is that really what you were so worried about?” Steve rolls his eyes. “Bucky, I’ve passed most of my life. You had no idea until I told you, and you’ve known me since I was ten.”

“I know, I know. I couldn’t help but worry. It would kill me if people didn’t see you as you though. And now we got all the proper paperwork to prove it. In case we ever. In case we ever need it.”

Steve stills. He hadn’t thought about it like that. His birth certificate sure doesn’t read right, and they’ve had nothing else with Steve’s real name and age. A smile starts to form across Steve’s mouth. He starts laughing along with Bucky.

“Huh. Ain’t that somethin’?” Steve says.

“Come on Stevie, let’s go get drunk,” Bucky says, throwing an arm around Steve’s neck. “I could use somethin’ to calm my nerves.”

**//**

Steve tugs on Bucky’s hair, making him whine softly. Steve loves this discovery. In fact it’s probably within his top five favorite facts about Bucky. That he whines all pretty when he’s aroused and his hair is pulled. Steve loves that sound terribly.

He’s got Bucky underneath him, naked as the day he was born, and Steve is as naked as he’s going to get. Steve runs his thumb over Bucky’s lower lip and watches as Bucky’s face pulls together, his desire clear and bright. Steve takes his other hand and scratches gently down Bucky’s left thigh. Bucky sighs and it turns into a little laugh. He’s enjoying himself far too much.

“Hey Stevie?” Bucky says softly, licking his lips.

“Yeah Buck,” Steve says at the shell of Bucky’s ear.

“I want…” Bucky starts, but his words turn into another little laugh.

“What do you honey? Anything at all.”

Steve smiles down at Bucky. It’s almost too easy to render him speechless when he’s like this, so worked up over Steve running his hands down him. He’s gorgeous like this, Steve would do anything for him.

“I want you to fuck me,” Bucky says, voice rough.

Steve’s chest clenches tight. For a few miserable seconds, Steve has no idea what to do. Eventually, he clears his throat.

“Bucky, you know I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” Bucky says, taking Steve’s thumb into his mouth and sucking it briefly. Steve stills, feeling himself flush all the way down to his chest. “Clearly I haven’t got your imagination runnin’ wild enough.”

“Oh,” Steve whispers.

“Yeah. Oh.” Bucky takes Steve’s wrist in his hand and kisses Steve’s fingertips. Then, without any warning at all, takes two of Steve’s fingers in his mouth and takes them all the way down to the knuckle. When he slides them out of his mouth he smiles all proud of himself. “Thinkin’ about your fuckin’ hands used to keep me up at night.” He looks up at Steve, turning serious for a moment. “Come on Steve, you know me better than that. I know you can give me everything I want.” 

“Yeah Buck, okay,” Steve manages. His voice shakes, and his little heart hammers, but he smiles into the kiss he places against Bucky’s jawline.

It’s not like Steve hasn’t thought about it. How could he not? It’s just not something he’s ever done with another man. Still, the mechanics of it aren’t complex. Steve laughs wickedly when he thinks of it, then presses his fingers into Bucky’s mouth again. Bucky takes them happily, moaning appreciatively as Steve pushes his fingers in and out of Bucky’s mouth gently.

When his fingers are sufficiently wet, Steve takes his hand away from Bucky’s lips. Bucky whines a little at the loss, but Steve replaces his fingers with his own mouth, distracting Bucky with a kiss as his hand travels down to cup Bucky’s ass.

“You sure?” Steve asks softly. He doesn’t know if Bucky’s ever done this before, and it’s one thing to say you want something and another entirely to have it happen.

“Very,” Bucky says, voice gravelly and gone.

Steve pushes one finger slowly into Bucky, and the tight heat of him makes heat dip into Steve’s stomach instantaneously. Bucky gasps softly, and his hands clutch at Steve’s shoulders sharply. Steve pushes his pointer finger inside all the way to the knuckle and Bucky spreads his legs wider.

“Bucky. Honey,” Steve breathes. He kisses Bucky, pushing his tongue between Bucky’s teeth, and moves his finger in and out slowly. Bucky whimpers, and his hands shake as he clutches at Steve’s shoulder blades, waist, and ribs, like he doesn’t know where he should settle himself, like he can’t balance himself. Steve understands the feeling.

“Please don’t stop,” Bucky says. Steve pushes a second finger inside.

Steve starts out moving slow, but Bucky spreads his legs wider and finally Steve finds the small bundle of nerves inside him, and Steve has to clamp a hand hard over Bucky’s mouth. He alternates between covering Bucky’s mouth with his palm and kissing him all filthy. Bucky squirms under Steve’s skinny frame, moans heavy under Steve’s own mouth and hand. Steve works his fingers, working up a rhythm that has Bucky seeming near crying with how he’s gasping Steve’s name, having not the smallest semblance of even trying to stay quiet.

“Buck, you have to be quiet baby,” Steve whispers, but doesn’t stop moving his fingers.

Bucky is hard and leaking against Steve’s left thigh. Steve himself is incredibly aroused, but it hardly registers with how hard he’s concentrating on Bucky. Steve feels incredible just watching Bucky like this. He didn’t know he could make it this good. Bucky has always, from the very beginning, had trouble keeping his damn mouth shut, but he’s never had as much trouble as this. Usually Steve can kiss him quiet, and steady him with a reminder that they’ve still got neighbors, but now Bucky is completely lost in pleasure, and Steve could die from looking at him like this.

“I could do this for hours,” Steve murmurs, more to himself than to Bucky, but Bucky lets out a sharp inhale and laughs all broken.

“You tryna kill me Stevie?” Bucky manages.

“I think I’m succeeding,” Steve retorts, and Bucky laughs at that, but it turns into a high pitched moan as Steve hits his prostate again.

“God I love you,” Bucky murmurs, fingernails digging into Steve’s back. “Touch me please, please, I can’t stand it.”

Unable to deny him anything, Steve reaches his other hand down, away from Bucky’s far too noisy mouth, and strokes Bucky slow and sweet. It only takes five strokes before he’s coming, bucking up into Steve’s fist.

Steve pulls out of Bucky and wipes his fingers on a nearby already sullied shirt. He presses a kiss to Bucky’s sweat damp chest.

“You’re right, I need to use my imagination more often,” Steve says.

Bucky laughs, high and bright, still breathless.

**//**

He gets the idea one afternoon just lying around and smoking. He puts his second cigarette to his lips as he rolls over onto his stomach in his and Buck’s bed. He’s felt hazy all day, none of his drawings are coming out right and he’s not got work for another week. Mister Sanders left Brooklyn to visit family for two weeks and closed the shop. Steve’s got nothing on and it’s making him stir crazy.

He’s been drawing Bucky since this morning. Filthy drawings, to put it bluntly, and he’ll absolutely shrivel up and die if Bucky ever finds them. It’s not that Steve thinks they’re bad drawings, or that he’s ashamed in any way of wanting him now. It just feels like a lot, to be drawing Bucky like this when he’s not even here. He should at least be drawing Bucky when he’s right in front of him, not drawing him when he’s not around like he’s not got the real thing anytime Bucky’s not at work. It’s more that Steve can’t seem to stop thinking about Bucky for even a few minutes when he’s busy. It’s a lot, is all.

He throws his notebook to the side and finishes off the cigarette. He’s lucky his asthma has kept it cool all day. He shouldn’t push it. He’s just bored and almost on the verge of a good way to spend his time alone.

He turns back over onto his back and shuts his eyes. He thinks of the last time he was with Bucky, three fingers inside of him. He’d kept his promise: two and a half hours they’d spent together. Steve smiles to himself, and that’s when it comes to him, like a light switches on.

How could he have forgotten?

Suddenly Steve feels like he’s seventeen again, during those few months he’d been hanging out with the butch dames he met through one of the two other people he’s ever been with aside from Buck. There was a girl named Mona who used to wear men’s jackets sometimes and pin her hair up at the back of her head. She had implied she’d once used a prosthetic to fool around with her old steady, and the idea had made Steve’s ears go pink and his cheeks go violet. He thinks of the idea now, using something like that to be with Bucky. He’d be able to hold him in both his arms, have one hand in his hair and the other on his waist. Steve’s mouth goes dry.

He’s going to find Mona this afternoon.

Mona is not hard to find. She worked in the same place as she did a year and a half ago. She worked in a bar right in the middle of town, and had a smart mouth if any of the customers got fresh with her. Steve hasn’t spoken to her in months but when Steve walks into the bar Mona smiles wide and pretty. She has her hair down, but she’s wearing trousers.

“Steven Rogers, what the hell are you doin’ here?” She asks. “You want a drink?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thank you though. I actually have a favor to ask,” Steve says, and as excited as he was thirty minutes ago, he’s now realizing what a predicament he’s gotten himself into. He’s not sure how to ask for what he’s looking for.

“Sure. Let me just finish cleaning up and we’ll talk.”

Ten minutes later she takes Steve by the hand and sits him down in one of the booths like she knows they need some privacy.

“Haven’t seen you around in a spell. What you been up to?” Mona asks, lighting a cigarette.

“Just workin’ mostly. You?”

“Same old same old. What do you need?”

“Uh,” Steve starts. He looks down at the table and tries to be brave.

“Just spit it out Rogers, no funny business!” Mona says, and slaps at Steve’s hands across the table.

“Okay, okay. Just. I’ve been seeing someone.”

“Oooh, okay. Now this is fun. I love to help out with this kinda stuff. Tell me about her.”

Steve almost wants to correct her. Almost. But he can’t out Bucky and he figures this is much easier anyway.

“She’s. She’s perfect. We were friends before and then turns out we’ve both been wanting more than that.” He blushes and laughs at himself.

“God, that’s sweet. You always were so sweet. So where do I come in?”

“Sorry. It’s a little. It’s maybe a big favor. I need to know where I can buy something that you mentioned a while back.”

Mona throws her head back and laughs. “Rogers, you dog, I can’t believe you don’t already have one. Seems like something you would have.”

“Well I _don’t_. But I think I’d like to.”

“You do want to have one. It’s fantastic, and a lot of fun. Very helpful in some areas. You’ll have to come back to my apartment though.”

Steve goes to Mona’s apartment and leaves with a little brown box under his arm. Well, not _little_.

Back at his own apartment, he opens the box and lays his new items out on the bed. Mona had given him a rubber dick, and a harness. She’d even shown him how to attach it and strap it around his waist and thighs. The whole thing had been entirely embarrassing, but Mona had only laughed a little and told him he would be fine.

Steve buckles the harness around himself, having to try four different times to make it fit right, and then attaches the dick, heavy in his hand. He feels silly at first, and thinks about taking it off immediately and throwing the thing away before Bucky knows he ever brought it into their home. He takes a deep breath. He pulls up his pants and tucks the dick into his underwear so that it lays flat. He doubles over in laughter as he concocts a plan and then has his third cigarette of the day. He waits for Buck to get home.

Truth be told Steve doesn’t feel confident he’s made the right decision when Bucky walks through the door. Bucky looks tired, like he had a real long day, and the first thing he does aside from kissing Steve hello is light up a cigarette. He doesn’t usually, given Steve’s condition.

“Bad one?” Steve asks, ready to run to the bathroom and stash his new merchandise immediately for a better time.

“Not great, no. We were down two men today. One sick, one got his letter.”

“Oh,” Steve replies. He doesn’t know if he should go to Bucky or not. He fiddles with one of his nearby charcoal pencils.

“Yeah, but it’s all good. It’s over now. And none of the other guys got such a swell sweetheart waitin’ at home for ‘em.” Bucky smiles between the smoke. It reaches his eyes, and his eyes crinkle in that fond way that Steve loves so bad.

“You don’t know that. They might,” Steve says, just to be contrary, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Come here, would ya?”

So Steve goes to Bucky.

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and shoves his face into Steve’s neck. He sighs contentedly into Steve’s skin, breath warm, and Steve gasps gently at the sensation. It’s so easy to love Bucky. The easiest thing he ever did.

“Been waitin’ all day to come home to this, to come home to you,” Bucky whispers. It tickles Steve’s ear softly and he laughs. He tightens his grip around Bucky’s neck and pulls him down to kiss him. He lets Bucky pin him to the wall, liking the feeling of having nowhere to go but Bucky’s arms.

Steve deepens their kiss and distracts Bucky with a hand snaking up underneath his shirt, and uses his other hand to readjust himself in his pants, making himself erect. Bucky smiles into their kiss, the strain of the day falling off of him. He grabs at Steve’s narrow waist and pushes him into the wall. He presses his groin up to Steve, laughing light and playful, and when he feels Steve hard against him he stills completely.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, and pulls away a little. His brow furrows and his mouth is turned down a little.

“Yeah Buck?” Steve says, playing dumb, but smiling all the same.

“Uh,” Bucky begins. He scoffs and then laughs. “Are you hard?”

“What can I say? You got me all worked up.” Steve smirks, feeling probably too proud of himself, but Bucky’s face is flushing, and his eyes are wide and wanting.

“What did you do Stevie?”

Steve brings his voice down low and looks up at Buck through lidded eyes. “Why don’t you get on the bed and find out?”

Bucky gulps audibly. He steps away from Steve. He licks his lips and nods.

“Okay.”

Bucky smiles and holds out a hand to Steve. Steve takes it and leads Bucky to their bed.

Bucky sits down on the mattress. His chest heaves. He watches Steve patiently. He runs a hand through his hair, out of his eyes to look at Steve better. “Well baby, you gonna keep me waiting all night?”

“Nah,” Steve says, stepping between Bucky’s legs and tilting Bucky’s chin up with one finger. “I only wanted to make you wait a little.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Bucky says, and puts his hands on either side of Steve’s waist. He eyes the bulge in Steve’s pants and cocks an eyebrow.

They fall into bed together. Bucky lies across the bed and pulls Steve on top of him. They grind against each other, and Bucky gasps at the weight and pressure of Steve against him.

“Can I?” Bucky whispers, and Steve laughs.

“Sure, whatever you want,” he says, and Buck reaches down and palms Steve through his pants. He unzips Steve and giggles a little.

“Stevie, you’re a bad man. So, so bad.”

“You bring it out in me,” Steve says, repeating Bucky’s old words back at him.

Bucky laughs, so carefree and happy. He puts a palm on the back of Steve’s neck and drags him into a rough kiss.

It isn’t long before Steve’s got Bucky undressed and worked open, three fingers inside him while he makes sweet sounds with his face buried in Steve’s neck.

Steve kicks his pants off and grabs for the Vaseline on the side table.

“Okay?”

“Please,” Bucky whispers, his voice gone.

Steve ducks his head down and lines himself up with Bucky. He pushes in gently, and wishes he could feel the sensation. Bucky’s fingernails dig into Steve’s shoulders hard, and the sharpness is near painful but it’s lovely too. Bucky’s wraps his thighs tight around Steve’s skinny waist and sighs, throat long and exposed underneath Steve.

“Wow,” Steve mutters, mostly to himself. He pulls himself out a little, and when he goes to push back inside he finds that he’s screwed up the angle. “Shit.”

Bucky laughs, and helps Steve to readjust. Steve enters Bucky again, but it takes four times before he can keep himself inside. He huffs out a frustrated grunt and rolls his eyes. He just wishes he could _feel_.

“Steve,” Bucky says, voice suddenly stern. Steve looks at his face and finds Bucky smiling wide, amusement clear on his face. “It’s fine.”

“I was just, I wanted this to be going smoother.”

“Come on, this sort of thing ain’t easy the first time. Remember the first time you went down on me?”

“Of course,” Steve says, recalling his own unbridled excitement at that moment.

“Yeah, and remember how I lasted all of ten seconds?” Bucky smirks. “Not exactly all that hot, huh?”

“I beg to differ,” Steve says, feeling his face go hot.

“What I’m saying is, this might take a minute to get real good, but I’m already having a fantastic time.”

“I know, I know,” Steve says. He takes a deep breath. “I just want it to be good.”

“It is. It is good,” Bucky says, and kisses Steve. He slides his tongue along Steve’s bottom lip. “It’s real, real good.”

Eventually, they find a rhythm, and Steve groans in relief and with arousal as Bucky whimpers and clutches at Steve. Steve nearly dies from happiness when he finds himself able to hold Bucky’s face in both his hands as he kisses him and thrusts inside him, able to make Bucky moan with one hand in his hair and the other gripping his thigh.

“_God_, Stevie,” Bucky says, all broken. Steve smiles as he sucks a mark at Bucky’s clavicle, and lets himself get lost in all of it.

Steve thinks he would be happy to do this for hours, for days, just listening to Bucky make obscene sounds, feeling the warmth of his body, but after a while he finds that it’s not easy to breathe, and though he thinks he’d rather just die than stop when Bucky’s enjoying himself like he is, he knows his useless lungs and weak heart aren’t going to keep up with him. He can use his hand for hours, no problem, but using his entire body like this isn’t easy.

Steve says nothing to indicate it, but Bucky must sense that he’s getting tired and short of breath.

“Hey,” Buck whispers, and gently shifts Steve onto his back. He straddles Steve, smiles down at him, and begins to ride Steve, slow and gorgeous.

“Awe, fuck,” Steve whispers, watching Bucky gasp at the new angle. “Yeah, this is the best purchase I ever made.”

Bucky laughs at the comment, but the laugh turns into a moan and it’s beyond perfect.

Bucky rides Steve for a while, Steve has no real idea of how long, he’s lost track of time completely. He watches for a while until he can sense that Bucky is close, and then rolls them back over.

Steve digs his fingers into Bucky’s sides and gives it all he’s got. Bucky doesn’t last long after that. Steve strokes Bucky through it and kisses him quiet. Bucky lays spread out on the bed, near dead to all the world.

Steve smiles wicked. “So did that work for you?”

Bucky swats at Steve, lightly hitting his arm. “You’re evil. You’re God damn evil, you little shit.”

Steve laughs, still laying between Bucky’s legs.

“Hey, sit up here, give me some breathing room will ya?” Bucky says, and motions for Steve to straddle his hips. Steve obliges and runs a hand up and down Bucky’s chest absentmindedly. “Nah, up more,” Bucky says. Steve scoots up a little. Bucky reaches out and undoes the buckles on the harness. He takes the rubber dick off of Steve and throws it off the bed.

“Hey, watch that, we both find that thing pretty useful,” Steve says in mock offense.

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky says, and pulls Steve farther up on his chest, and then farther still until Steve realizes that Bucky has situated them so that Steve is straddling Bucky’s face.

“Buck, you sure?” Steve asks, his own arousal having been left unattended and now rearing its head. “Is that comfortable for you?”

“Baby, I don’t get more comfortable than this,” Bucky says, hands on Steve’s thighs, pushing him down, and takes all of Steve into his mouth.

Steve shuts his eyes and lets Bucky hold him up. He rides out his pleasure and doesn’t last long, biting down hard on his knuckles.

After, they lay next to each other, giggly and carefree. Bucky gets out his pack of smokes and they pass kisses and a cigarette back and forth. Steve falls asleep for a while and only wakes when Bucky tells him to come eat dinner, teasing him for being such a lazy little shit.

**//**

Bucky sits in the kitchen smoking, fingers rubbing at his temple. When Steve shuts the door Bucky looks up, like he’s waking from a long, deep sleep.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky says. “It’s going to be okay.”

“What?” Steve asks. His chest goes cold. There’s a white piece of paper sitting in the middle of the table. “How long did they give you?”

“I got three weeks till I gotta go to basic.”

Bucky is pale and his pretty blue eyes have gone dark. Bucky is scared, and he’s trying very hard not to be, which makes him braver than he’ll ever give himself credit for.

“Baby?” Steve whispers. He’s standing in the middle of their apartment, unable to move. He’s paralyzed. Bucky needs him, but he can’t make his legs work.

Bucky lets out a laugh. “Hey, I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me. You’ll probably find a way to get more hurt than I ever will, you little punk.”

“I,” Steve mumbles, the words lodged in his throat. His legs are made of stone but he lifts them and goes to Bucky. He folds himself into Bucky’s lap.

Bucky’s jaw is clenched. He’ll break his damn jaw if he keeps it up. “You think I’m a coward, don’t you?”

“What?”

“It’s okay. You’re not wrong about it.”

Bucky’s eyes shine bright. He doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing. Steve wishes he would, because it would be just fine. Steve wants to be able to comfort him, but he doesn’t want to embarrass him either. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck.

“I don’t think that. I don’t think that at all.”

“Shit Steve, all you’ve talked about for the last four months is getting out there and givin’ the Germans hell. Because it’s the right thing to do. If I don’t want that, what then?”

“Just because you don’t wanna kill people doesn’t mean you’re a coward. I don’t wanna kill people, you know that don’t you?”

“I know. I _know_.” Bucky runs a hand through his hair and then lays the hand down to rest on Steve’s hip. “I’ll be okay, as long as I know you’re here, safe and waitin’ for me.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Stop talking like I’m your wife.”

“Steve please.” Bucky takes a long drag off his cigarette. “You’d be the worst wife in the world. What kind of wife can’t cook for shit and comes home with black eyes?”

“I’m serious. If anything I should be out there with you, keeping _you _safe.”

“You always keep me safe. Always.”

“Buck, look at me.” Steve puts a finger under Bucky’s chin. He makes Bucky look him dead in the eye. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, but we do have some. Will you just take me to bed sweetheart? Please? I just wanna forget it, for a while.”

“Yeah Buck, I can do that.”

Steve stands, and takes Bucky by the hand. He leads him to bed and lays him down, and makes him forget all about war.

**//**

Bucky is open and honest about his leaving. He makes bad jokes about it, and kisses Steve different. Not bad, just different. He kisses harder, leaving himself gasping for air just as much as Steve.

Steve tries to pretend it isn’t happening. He fakes like he and Bucky have all the time in the world. He kisses and fucks Buck real slow, drawing it all out. He holds Bucky’s hand while they eat dinner. Some nights Steve doesn’t sleep, and elects to watch Bucky sleep instead. He plays with his hair while Bucky’s mouth goes slack in sleep, his eyes moving behind the eyelids like he’s having a bad dream.

Steve goes to two different recruitment offices. Once he starts coughing while trying to choke out how his father died from mustard gas in the first war. One doctor reads off his medical chart that he has asthma and sends him away. Steve goes home to Bucky, frustration dripping off each unused muscle.

Bucky leaves for basic and comes back with toned muscle. His hair is cut inspection short around the ears. Of course he waltzes back into Brooklyn pulling a guy off Steve in a back alley.

“What the hell were you doin’ Steve?” Bucky asks with a smirk, wearing his uniform incredibly well.

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve says, wiping blood from his lip. Bucky runs a thumb over Steve’s busted lip.

“Sure you did,” he says, and smiles down at Steve all fond. God, Steve has missed him.

They go back to the apartment and Steve washes up. Bucky watches him work, taking a wash cloth to his sore cheek and lip.

“You learned how to patch yourself up without me,” Bucky says offhand.

“Buck, I patched myself up plenty before you left.”

“Looks like you kept yourself busy while I was away. I was only gone a handful of weeks. How many fights did you get into?”

“I’ve been fine,” Steve snaps.

“It’s not like I wanted to go Steve.”

Steve slumps over the bathroom sink. “I know.”

“Would you finish over there and give me a kiss? There aren’t any cute guys in my unit, I’ve missed something nice to look at.”

Steve rolls his eyes and folds the washcloth over the rim of the sink. He goes to Bucky and wraps his arms around his waist.

“So you didn’t find someone to replace me, huh?”

“Nah. Couldn’t find anyone that had a mug as ugly as yours,” Bucky teases, and leans down to kiss Steve. Steve laughs into it, and runs his fingers through the fine hairs at the base of Bucky’s neck. “Mm, just as sweet as I remember.”

“I missed you. How are you? Really?” Steve asks.

“I’m okay. Really. I think I’m ready to quit all this chatting though. Show me what I’ve been missin’ won’t you Rogers?”

Steve laughs again. “How long you back?”

“Three days.”

“I’m gonna lock you in here. We’ll only leave bed for sustenance.”

“Is that so? I think my Ma has other ideas.”

“Okay, okay. But tonight, you’re all mine.”

“You won’t hear any complaining from me.”

The last night Bucky is home, Steve climbs on top of his body in the dark and spreads his own small frame across Bucky’s. They hold each other while they breathe slowly. Bucky clings to Steve’s back, fingers digging into his thin shoulder blades. They don’t speak, because they don’t have to. Steve makes no mention of it when he feels Bucky’s torso begin to shake, and when he sniffs, breath coming out shaky, face wet in the dark. Steve only buries his nose in Bucky’s neck and holds him tighter.

In the morning, Steve goes to the train station with the Barnes family. He hugs Steve goodbye first, because for show that makes sense. Besides, they’ve already said goodbye in their little apartment. Steve had screwed Bucky senseless, sunlight pouring over Bucky’s tanned skin while he tried to stay quiet.

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back,” Bucky says, trying for a smile.

“How can I, you’re takin’ all the stupid with you.”

Bucky laughs and rolls his eyes.

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

Steve hugs Bucky tight and watches him hug his parents and sisters goodbye. He gets on the train and waves out the window. Bucky’s mother cries into a handkerchief, but she still looks proud. Hell, Steve is proud of Bucky too.

Steve goes home and falls into bed, covering himself in sheets that still smell like Bucky.

**//**

Bucky shipped out five hours ago.

At least with basic training, he had known Bucky wasn’t in any real danger. Now, Steve won’t have a clue whether Bucky’s okay or not.

Steve always figured he’d feel it, if something happened to Buck. A part of him would just snap in two, he’d be sawed in half, and he’d just _know_. Still, it’s not something he can prove and the vast unknowing will undoubtedly keep Steve awake at night.

Honest to God, Steve is scared. He hasn’t done much praying since his mother died but he’s praying now, counting rosary beads and kneeling against their little bed. He knows he’s going to Hell anyway, what with all the living in sin he’s been doing. It doesn’t matter. He never could shake that Catholic guilt.

Steve pulls out the bottle of whiskey he and Bucky had kept stashed in the back of the cupboard. He unscrews the top and takes a long pull. It burns his throat and he’s happier for it.

For a while, Steve just sits at their beat up kitchen table and smokes and drinks, looking at the walls and feeling lost and sorry for himself. It’s pointless and absurd, this type of grief for a person who will be coming back, it’s only a matter of time. It’s just that Bucky is the only person in the world who really knows Steve. Steve might not really exist at all, if not for Bucky.

Steve thinks back to the day Bucky found him out. Those stupid fucking floorboards. He had been so worried, and now Steve thinks he’s thankful for that makeshift hiding place.

He recalls suddenly, with only a drunk’s means of epiphany, that Bucky had thought Steve had found something of his under the floorboards.

Steve stands up quick, nearly knocking over his chair. Maybe he has no right to know, but the idea that Bucky might still have something hiding tucked under their floors will eat at Steve until he knows for sure.

Steve walks to each corner of their shared living quarters. There are six places where the boards are loose enough to come up easy. The first two reveal nothing, but on the third try, Steve removes the board and finds a stack of papers covered in dust like they haven’t been touched in months.

Steve picks up the papers, heart knocking around in his chest. He realizes what he’s holding and lets out a crazed laugh. They’re letters and they’re addressed to Steve.

Steve swallows hard and reads.

_You are the bravest person I could ever comprehend. To know yourself so surely and to chase it down, my God, I’ll never come close. I’m a coward. Always have been, always will be, but it’s nice to be so close to something so mighty. _

_Stevie, I won’t ever know why you chose me. I can only guess at it. You’d probably say something like we chose each other, but that wouldn’t be true. I saw you and had no choice but to follow. Since age ten I’ve never been able to do anything but watch you in awe. I’m just honored that you let me. _

_Here’s the real bad part though Stevie, the part I think you would really not like me for: I’m in love with you. There it is, all written out in my own hand. I just wanna know what you taste like. What you’d sound like with my hands on you. I know it’s not right. I want to be sorry for it. You’re so damn pretty, and I know you’d hate me saying so, but it’s true. Forgive me. For all of it. I’m sorry I let you sleep so close to me every night in the winter when it’s cold and I’m sorry I could never ever get enough. I don’t want to be like anyone, but I want to be like you. _

_You shouldn’t ever find this, but if you do, just know I’m real sorry, please don’t be too sore about it. I couldn’t help myself. Nothing has been so easy, or so damn difficult. It’s my favorite thing about me, that I get to love you. _

_B_

He looks at the date on the top of the first page. February 1939. Over a whole year before they had even kissed that first time. How long? How long had Buck felt like this? Sounding young and terribly ancient and weathered at the same time with his words, counting on Steve to never see the truth.

He misses Bucky so bad it makes him sick, and it’s not yet been a day.

Steve scrambles for something to hold on to. He wants be digging his nails into Bucky’s shoulders but he has to settle for his own kneecaps, sitting on the floor and hunched over making his back ache. Knowing that he could have had Bucky so much sooner makes Steve’s stomach turn over. He unfolds the next slip of paper, throat in his mouth.

_You are getting sicker and sicker, I swear I’ve never been more scared. Wish so much I could take all this pain away. I’d take your fever and your aching bones in a second. You’re the last person who should have this constant betrayal of the body. It’s no fair at all. _

_You can’t die on me though, okay? You just can’t. You simply have to get better. I don’t know what the fuck I’d ever do without your pale, skinny arms and your blue eyes. I love the strong line of your brow, did you know? I’ve been holding a cool damp cloth to that brow every few hours. _

_You’re asleep now. I kissed your forehead. You twitched in your sleep when I did it, but you didn’t wake up. I’m starting to feel real bad about these kinds of things. Like when we got drunk a month back and I kept squeezing your shoulder, all playful but really just drunk stupid hopeful. I didn’t mean to love you so bad. _

There’s pages and pages that go on and on in a similar fashion, and though he’s had Bucky under him a hundred times, reading the words still dig hooks into Steve’s chest. Steve takes another drink, and horribly enough realizes he’s crying. He chokes back a sob and puts the pages down. He tries to catch his breath.

He needs to get to Buck. He needs to do his bit in this war. He can’t sit here, all alone, with Bucky all alone too.

**//**

Steve rolls over in bed. The daylight floods in. His limbs feel heavy and his throat hurts. He’s not sick, he’s just been crying all God damn night. He hasn’t cried like this since his mother passed. This might be worse because no one is actually dead.

Steve is going to the lower half of Manhattan. He is going to get accepted or he’s going to die trying. He’s going to beg. He’ll take the medical exam. He’ll do all of it. Even if he gets arrested. Hell, he’ll get arrested anyway for lying about it being his first time in a recruitment office. None of it matters. He’ll get shipped out somehow, some way.

He dresses carefully. He adjusts his binder around his chest and does his belt up tight. He’s nervous like he always is, but he’s made up his mind. This will be the time. It has to be.

He writes his information out on the paperwork with the proper adjustments. He sits and waits. It’s all become so routine. When his name is called Steve’s hands are steady. He doesn’t have any fear left in him.

It becomes distinctly un-routine-like when a man with small spectacles and a German accent comes into the room and begins to talk to Steve.

“Steven Grant Rogers. Age twenty one. It’s an honor to meet you.”

The man holds out his hand and waits for Steve to take it. Steve reaches out and shakes the hand, confusion clouding his mind.

“Sorry, should I know who you are?”

“No. Not at all. But I did know your mother. She spoke very highly of you.”

“What?” Steve says dumbly, for lack of anything better.

“I apologize for being so forward, I had just always hoped to meet you. Today is my lucky day I suppose. I’m Doctor Abraham Erskine.”

Steve’s mouth opens and closes, moving thick and slow like a floundering guppy. Steve doesn’t speak. He can’t. His stupid heart has started to beat too fast.

“How are you feeling today? I’ll have to give you the full evaluation, but you should know you won’t get in any trouble for coming here. Though I think I’m right in assuming this is not your first time in a recruitment office. You are either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” Steve finally manages. Erskine laughs. “Wait, what do you mean I won’t get any trouble from you?”

“I will write what I feel is best on all the forms, that’s all.”

“You mean you’ll lie. Like about my weight?” Steve asks, feigning ignorance. He feels a little sick, and his palms are slick.

“Steven, I don’t mean to be indecent, but we both know what I’m talking about.”

Steve bites down hard on his bottom lip. He tries to work it all out in his head. There are a good ten seconds of silence that sit between him and the Doctor, the unspoken words heavy around them.

“You used to write to my mother,” Steve says, not really asking.

Erskine smiles. “I wrote to her, yes.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and it leaves his mouth soft, barely an exhale. Steve lets out a laugh, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Oh my God. You’re really him.”

“So you are familiar with the correspondences?”

“I found them all after she died. I sent the last letter, with the change of address.”

“I thought as much. I was sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. I checked with the hospital. I would have liked to talk with you more though. Why did you never write again?”

“I guess I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t. I didn’t know how to say thank you.”

“There was never any need for thanking. I only did what was right. Much like you being here at all. This is what, your fifth time trying, given these other forms?” Erskine says, flipping through the papers on his clipboard.

“Yeah those might not…be right,” Steve tries, but he’s always been a terrible liar.

“Why don’t we move on?” Erskine says, smirking. The knot in Steve’s belly loosens.

“Yeah. Let’s get started.”

_You shook your head and pulled the curtains back, took in the view_  
Then you showed me the rest of you  
And I guess I thought I’d seen the world

Big Black Heart, Better Oblivion Community Center

**Author's Note:**

> this is part one of three, all three parts are already in progress.
> 
> i'm dykecrowleys on tumblr, come screech with me


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